


First Impressionists

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Post-Season/Series 03 Finale, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-10-26 08:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: Having followed Phryne to London, Jack gets caught up investigating a string of high profile art thefts. Too bad he has a history with the prime suspect.Part locked-room mystery, part reunion fic, part excuse to dress Jack up in a tux.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, I wrote another case fic...
> 
> I actually had quite a lot of fun writing this over the last few months, mostly huddled under blankets trying to stay warm. Which I guess technically makes this a cozy mystery? ;-) And as such I heartily recommend pairing it with a mug of hot cocoa.
> 
> Unless it’s really warm where you are. In which case, it goes great with Mr B’s lemonade. ;-)
> 
> A million, million thanks to Fire_Sign for being the most fantastic and patient beta.
> 
> The plan is to update three times a week, real life permitting.

Oh, this was a terrible idea.

Jack Robinson adjusted his bowtie, looked out the cab window, and sighed, a sound as heavy and unsubtle as the fog he was currently travelling through. His hand found the invitation in his jacket pocket and he rubbed it, for luck or just to be sure it was still there, he wasn’t sure which.

When Phryne Fisher had asked him three months ago to come after her, Jack hadn’t realized she’d be a moving target. But, as he looked out at the London landmarks whizzing by, he found he also wasn’t surprised in the slightest. 

He’d arrived at Phryne’s London townhouse this afternoon, three days early and surprisingly rested, having napped, showered and shaved at his nearby hotel before calling on her. All of which turned out to be especially lucky given that it was not Phryne who had greeted him when he knocked, but her mother.

Margaret Fisher, much to Jack’s surprise, was not at all how he imagined her, which, depending on the day, was either as an older version of Phryne or a raven haired Prudence Stanley. In truth, she was actually closer to what he imagined Janey Fisher might have been like - quiet, kind, just a little sad, and with a fierce love for Phryne. She had been delighted to meet Jack, having heard a truly astonishing number of stories about “the Inspector” during the two months Phryne had been back in London. Phryne, Margaret explained, was out getting ready for a party downtown and wouldn’t be back in the interim. However, in a marvelous stroke of luck, she’d left her plus one invitation behind, and surely Jack had his formal wear at the hotel, and wouldn’t it just be a lark if he surprised her! And before he knew it, Jack was in a cab, wearing said formal wear, heading downtown, and beginning to think he’d been right about the “older version of Phryne” presumption after all.

But now that he was finally sitting still, and had a moment to really consider this plan, he was having second thoughts. Their letters and telegrams over the last several months had been full of promise - invitations made and accepted, declarations made and reciprocated. But that had been poetry and now that they were back to prose, would Phryne really welcome this? The unexpected arrival of an Antipodean detective at one of her fancy society parties would be at best a surprise, and at worst an intrusion. And, though she had seemingly gone alone, perhaps she was meeting someone there. He really didn’t think interrupting her date was the reunion either of them wanted.

Yes, this was almost certainly a terrible idea.

Jack was seriously contemplating going back to his hotel and waiting until tomorrow when the cab stopped abruptly at the party’s location, effectively making his mind up for him. Jack let out an involuntary and rather loud curse, which the cab driver raised his eyebrows at but otherwise let go unremarked. Jack vaguely remembered hearing that London cab drivers were known for their discretion, and so he just thanked the man for his services, paid, and stepped out into the cold night air.

Pulling the invitation from his pocket, he confirmed the address was correct and walked up to the front door of an enormous London townhouse. Actually two townhouses, Jack realized, that had been combined to offer the size of a small estate with the convenience of city living.

Jack walked up the front steps and knocked. Almost immediately a short man with a haughty expression who Jack assumed to be the butler opened the door. 

“Yes?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Jack and his policeman’s idea of formal wear. 

“Good evening,” Jack replied. “I’m supposed to be accompanying The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher to Lord Hawkins’ party this evening, but I believe she’s arrived early without me. I have our invitation,” Jack assured the man, and then handed said piece of paper over.

The man looked at it, sniffed, and handed it back.

“Miss Fisher arrived over an hour ago, sir. And she didn’t mention a guest.”

“Well she didn’t mention a butler either, but I’m sure we can both make do with a few surprises,” Jack said smiling, trying to find a balance between authoritative and charming and suspecting neither was having the desired effect.

The man sniffed again, but let Jack into the entryway.

“Please wait here, sir, while I confirm your... invitation.”

Then the man walked away in the direction of the noise and, Jack assumed, guests.

Jack waited all of thirty seconds before ignoring the butler’s command completely and heading further into the house.

Making his way down the grand hall towards London’s elite, Jack realized that as far as first impressions went, crashing a party probably wasn’t the polite or prudent move. But he hadn’t come this far to be polite, and Jack figured he had left prudent behind somewhere in the Indian Ocean.

Then again, if this set were anything like Phryne, maybe he’d be making a smashing impression. 

The thought caused him to snort - as if there was anyone like Phryne.

Jack followed the sound of laughter into the first room on the right. It appeared to be a ballroom; there was dancing and a small band, waiters were making the rounds with hors d'oeuvres, and as the guests twirled around him Jack was reminded of Guy Stanley’s engagement party. Just then, a woman with an elaborate fascinator floated past him and for a moment he was reminded of a different, more Egyptian looking headpiece. Combined, the comparisons brought forth, unbidden, the image of Phryne as Cleopatra, and even a year later, Jack had to swallow hard. Searching the guests’ faces for one he recognized, he wondered absentmindedly what would have happened if they’d had their one gaudy night that evening. He wondered if they would have still found their way here or if it would have set them on a different course altogether. 

He wondered if Phryne still had the costume.

Jack swallowed again at the thought. Yes, he had definitely left polite and prudent well and truly behind.

Not finding Phryne in the ballroom, Jack helped himself to an hors d'oeuvre and then made his way to the next room down the hall, a library where several small groups of guests were chatting in more intimate conversation. 

It was easy to see she wasn’t in this room, though the walls and walls of books did tempt him for a moment. Pulling himself away, he travelled across the hall to find a magnificent dinner buffet laid out and a number of guests enjoying the spread. 

Cleopatra, books, food.

It was like he was being tested.

Determined not to be distracted and resolved to find Phryne, Jack scanned the room, but to no avail. He sighed and moved back into the hall. He was beginning to get frustrated. No sign of her in any of the rooms so far and he wasn’t sure where else to search. Jack took a deep breath then frowned; that was odd, he could swear he smelled smoke. He was just about to go investigate when a loud giggle down the hall caught his attention and he turned to see two guests disappear furtively up a staircase. Jack followed, catching up to and eventually passing the couple who had stopped for a drunken snog on the stairs. He continued on and made his way up to the first floor, a quieter area, not quite off limits to guests, but clearly offering far few diversions to capture their attention. 

After glancing around at the mostly closed doors, Jack walked down to the far end of the hall where a large picture window overlooked downtown London. He leaned against the frame and let his eyes move unfocused over the vista. Staring out at the scene, lights twinkling and the energy almost palpable, Jack began to worry. Perhaps Margaret Fisher had been wrong. This was a big city after all, with a thousand shiny objects to distract a curious lady detective. Perhaps Phryne wasn’t even here. Jack looked at his watch - it was almost nine o’clock - and considered his other options for the evening.

Just then a loud scream rent the air. Jack immediately turned and tried to identify the source.

“Police! Police! Stop! Thief!” someone down the hallway yelled.

Pushing off the wall, Jack straightened his bow tie, began moving in the direction of the scream, and tried very hard not to smile. It seemed he had the right party after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack hurried down the corridor, ignoring all the closed doors between him and the scream and heading for the open one at the end of the hall. He ran inside to find an older woman staring at an empty frame on the wall and looking very much like she might faint at any moment. A small part of Jack’s brain registered that she was literally clutching her pearls, and he had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the cliché. Upon hearing Jack enter, she turned to face him.

“Are you with the police?” she asked, voice quivering slightly.

Jack paused, not entirely certain how to answer. He was, technically, with the police, despite having no authority whatsoever in England. But he sensed what this woman needed right now more than semantics was help, and that he could provide.

“Yes?” he said, tentatively, taking her hand and moving her to a nearby settee. 

“It’s gone!” she cried, gratefully taking his arm and a seat on the furniture. “Where did the constable go?”

“Constable?” Jack asked.

“Yes, you had a constable posted here all night.” She turned to look at Jack, confused now. “You are with the police, aren’t you?”

“A different branch,” Jack said vaguely, realizing he may have stumbled onto a much more complicated situation than he had first thought. “Are you alright?” he asked. First things first.

“Yes, yes, fine,” she assured him. Jack looked around, cataloguing the scene in his mind. There was no one else in the room, which appeared to be a kind of mini long gallery for displaying art. There were sculptures, books, and several other intact paintings. He was still absorbing the relevant details when a police constable came running into the room, completely out of breath and smelling slightly of smoke.

“Lady Hawkins!” the young man cried out. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” she said gruffly. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Jack decided not to mention the fact that she had been screaming not two minutes ago.

The poor frazzled constable looked at the empty frame and then made a noise of pain and surprise reminiscent of a squawking bird or yelping pup. He ran his hand over his face and blew out a breath. “Three minutes,” he muttered, “I was gone three minutes…” Then he turned back to Lady Hawkins.

“I’ll get the Inspector,” the young man assured her. He looked at Jack briefly, but given the way that Lady Hawkins was gripping his hand, clearly decided that whoever this partygoer was, he wasn’t a threat. And with that the young constable was off again. 

To get a real Inspector. With authority in England.

Damn.

Very gently, Jack extracted his hand from the older woman, considering his options. He couldn’t leave the crime scene unattended, but he absolutely didn’t want to be there when the Inspector returned. Movement in the hall attracted his attention and Jack rushed towards the door to investigate, running headfirst into the commotion. A blur of red cloth and black hair and pale, pale skin sent him reeling back. Recovering quickly Jack turned to make sure the other party was alright when suddenly he realized who the other party was.

Phryne.

She was staring at him, her face doing a remarkable job of projecting surprise, confusion, and joy all at the same time. After a moment the first two emotions faded away, and she just smiled, wide and wonderful and delighted to see him.

“Jack,” she whispered, as through to say it too loudly might cause the apparition to vanish. He could have assured her he wasn’t going anywhere. If he could speak, that was. Which didn’t seem to be the case just now.

Jack swallowed hard. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say a dozen times in the cab ride over, but now, face to face for the first time in months, he couldn’t remember any of it. Various options went through his head. “ _Surprise!_ ” or “ _Fancy meeting you here._ ” or “ _I could not stay behind you: my desire, more sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth._ ” But none of them came out. Instead, his head and heart took him right back to the beginning.

“This is the scene of a crime,” he said, smiling despite his best attempt to look irritated. He couldn’t help it - she was here, irritated was not an option.

“Well,” she said, not missing a beat, “lucky for you, I'm wearing gloves.” And she was. Long white gloves that came up just shy of her elbow.

Which is what finally drew his attention to the dress.

It was bordeaux red, with an asymmetrical neckline that dipped just this side of decent on one side. The top hugged her torso suggestively, slowly transitioning into streaks of fabric that clung to her hips before floating down from her knees to the floor. It was, in Jack’s less than fashion forward vernacular, a hell of a dress.

Jack swallowed hard again.

Neither of them moved, and Phryne was still smiling up at him when the constable returned. He looked at Phryne and Jack and coughed nervously.

“Miss. Sir. I’m… I’m afraid I need to ask you to leave,” he stammered. Then a little louder, “uh, you too, Lady Hawkins. The Inspector’s on the telephone with Scotland Yard right now, but he wants me to, uh, secure the crime scene. So…” the young man trailed off, vaguely waving his hands in a ‘please go’ gesture. Luckily, Lady Hawkins had collected herself somewhat by that point and was all too happy to leave the room to the police and find more suitable company for herself. She nodded to Jack and Phryne as she passed, and moved off down the hall. 

While the constable was securing the room - poorly, Jack thought, as the young man hadn’t even asked their names - Phryne took Jack’s right hand in hers, and held it, a move that would have surprised and delighted Jack if he’d had enough time to process it. But as it was, her next few words and actions completely distracted him.

She raised his left hand to check his watch, and he could see her eyes following the second hand, watching it _tick, tick, tick,_ as it traveled back to twelve. She spoke to him at she waited, her eyes never leaving the watchface.

“Jack, I really am so very happy to see you, but I’m on a case and I’m afraid I need you to do something for me now.”

“What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

_Tick. Tick. Twelve._

“Run.”

And with that, she took the hand holding hers and sprinted for the stairs, Jack holding tight, two steps behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short chapter today, folks. But hey, Phryne's arrived! :-)


	3. Chapter 3

It was familiar and new all at the same time.

In the past, he and Phryne had run together often, chasing leads, chasing suspects. But they had never done it quite like this, hands clasped tight together the entire time.

Jack followed her through the upstairs hall and down the staircase he had come up, past the library and to the ballroom. She stopped there suddenly and grabbed his watch again, noting the time.

“Damn,” she said.

“What?” he asked, though to be fair, that was just one of about a hundred questions he had by this point.

“It’s more than enough time,” she explained, not really explaining anything at all. “I was hoping I could eliminate one or more of my suspects this way, but they all had enough time to get up and back.” She looked momentarily disappointed, then squared her shoulders, and turned to face him. “Oh well, that was just Plan C. Time to see if Plan B worked.”

She was still holding his hand, and this time when she turned to leave he used the connection to gently pull her back.

“Not so fast. Please, Miss Fisher, if you would be so kind, what in the hell is going on?”

Phryne tapped her foot impatiently. “I told you, Jack, I’m on a case. And on the clock, so if _you_ would be so kind, we need to start moving.” She tugged on his hand, but beyond raising an eyebrow, Jack didn’t move. Phryne sighed. “Fine, what if I promise to fill you in while we walk?”

Jack figured it was the best offer he was going to get. “Deal,” he agreed, and, not wanting to waste the opportunity, pulled her hand up to his lips to seal the pledge with a kiss. She relaxed slightly at the gesture and smiled up at him. He smiled back, both of them basking in just being together after so much time apart. It couldn’t last though, not if they were really on a case, and so, reluctantly, they let their hands drop apart.

“Come on,” she said. “This way.”

Jack easily kept up her quick pace as she made her way down the hall.

“The short version is this: five weeks ago my friend Alastair’s brand new Pissarro was stolen.”

“Camille Pissarro? The painter?” Phryne nodded, so Jack continued. “An Impressionist, if I recall correctly.”

“Very good, Jack.”

“So not quite ‘brand new’?” Jack remarked dryly. The painter had been dead almost 30 years.

“Brand new to Alastair,” Phryne clarified. “He picked this particular piece up at auction not two weeks earlier. When I heard about the theft, I offered my services, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“Unfortunately, I wasn’t getting too far with my inquiries in the beginning, but about two weeks later, I was at a big society birthday party for a friend of a friend. When I found out the host also owned a Pissarro, I asked to see it out of curiosity. Well,” she said, spinning on her heel to change direction and head for what Jack assumed was the servants’ staircase, which smelled oddly of smoke, “as it turns out, sometime between when I saw it, and midnight when the host noticed, it was stolen as well.”

“Same painter. Was it sold at the same auction?” Jack asked.

She stopped then. Turned and looked at him with something like pride. “Oh Jack, I have missed your cleverness.” She smiled, then nodded, back to business and back on the move. “Yes, same auction. So of course I tracked down the bid sheet and discovered that both paintings were part of a larger _Lost Impressionists_ collection. Paintings lost during the War and recently recovered. Two Manets, three Pissarros, three Degases, three Sisleys, two Monets, four Morisots and a Renoir. More on that later,” she promised as they ducked past two servants carrying champagne and entered what looked like a large store room in the basement.

“Billy!” she called out cheerfully, and a young man who had been sitting near the door jumped to attention.

“Miss Fisher!” the eager young lad replied, practically vibrating with a desire to impress her.

“How have things been here, Billy? Any movement?” Phryne asked, looking around the room as she did.

“No miss,” he said confidently. “No one in or out since you last checked. I’ve been here myself the whole time.”

“Good lad,” she said sweetly, patting him on his cheek. Jack almost felt bad for the boy. Billy’s eyes went wide and he turned a shade of red Jack could make out even in the room’s dim light. “You keep watch until either the party is over or I tell you too, alright?”

“Yes, miss. Absolutely.” Billy went back to his post and Phryne motioned for Jack to follow her out. He did, nodding at the young man as he left, despite the fact that Billy hadn’t seemed to register Jack’s presence the entire time they’d been there.

Not that he blamed him - it was always hard to take your eyes off Phryne.

“Guarding the exits?” Jack asked once they were back in the corridor.

“One of two,” she confirmed, heading back for the stairs. 

“Should we be worried? He’s a civilian. What if your thief decides to leave and young Billy attempts to stop him?”

“I don’t actually think they’ll try to escape that way. Too many variables, too many people. But just in case, I was very clear with Billy - observe, but do not interfere.”

Jack stopped her halfway up the stairs with a hand to her arm.

“And what if Billy decides to try and impress you?”

“I was very clear about that too, Jack - I’m most impressed by men who can follow my orders,” she told him, licking her lips slightly and flashing him a suggestive look.

“I must be very disappointing then,” Jack replied, though his eyes never left her lips. 

“Oh Jack,” she said, reaching up to touch his cheek, “you keep telling yourself that.” Then she patted his cheek twice, spun around and started back up the stairs.

Jack rolled his eyes, and rushed to catch up.

“Alright, so now two Pissarros have been stolen…” he recapped as he pulled alongside her on the stairs.

“Which brings us to robbery number three. Last week. There were only three Pissarros in the auction lot. When I went to interview buyer number three, it was still safe and sound, _but_ I discovered there was to be a public reading by an up-and-coming author in the buyer’s home a few days later. I got myself invited, of course, as apparently did the police inspector handling the case because I noticed him lurking in the back of the room. I suppose we were both there to catch the thief in the act.”

“But you said _third_ robbery,” Jack interjected as they reached the ground floor once again. “I take it neither you nor the inspector was successful in preventing the theft?”

“No,” Phryne huffed. “Honestly, Jack, it was like a magic trick. I checked on that painting every five minutes all afternoon. I’ve no idea how the thief got it! Additionally, the Inspector searched everyone on their way out - nothing!”

“So three thefts in five weeks, all Pissarros,” Jack clarified as they approached the front door. “Anything else I should know?”

“Yes, I - Wentworth!”

Jack stopped short as he once again came face to face with the irritated butler who’d let him in.

“Hello miss,” he greeted her, so genially Jack thought perhaps it was a different man. Then he turned to Jack, irritated once more, and Jack decided that no, this was definitely the same man. “I thought I told _you_ to wait at the door.”

“Oh no need to fret, Wentworth,” Phryne assured him. “This is my partner, Jack Robinson. Best detective in Australia,” she assured the man and Jack felt a strange surge of pride at her words. It wasn’t that Jack doubted his abilities, he knew he was a good cop. But Phryne didn’t falsely flatter, and it felt good to be reminded how much she respected him professionally even as they were about to embark on a new chapter personally.

“Hmph,” Wentworth sniffed. It seemed Phryne’s words had done little to change his opinion of Jack.

“Anyone try to leave while I was away, Wentworth?” Phryne asked.

“No miss,” he assured her, his affable manner returning once more. “And I was only away from the door for a moment when I spoke to you about your… guest.”

Jack looked at Phryne in surprise. She had seemed genuinely shocked to see him upstairs, but if Wentworth had told her…

“Excellent, Wentworth. I suspect this is about to become a police matter anyway, but if you could do your best not to let anyone leave without alerting me, I would very much appreciate it.”

“Of course, miss. Whatever I can do to assist you,” the older man smiled and Jack’s eyebrows shot up at the unexpected expression. He hadn’t even thought the man _could_ smile.

“Thank you.” Phryne smiled back fondly, then gestured to Jack to follow her back down the hall. 

“You know, Miss Fisher,” he said, walking beside her down the hall, past several guests moving between rooms, “if I’d known we’d be running around this much, I would have worn more comfortable shoes.”

“You’re welcome to borrow mine,” she offered dryly, the click of her heels as they began ascending the stairs accentuating the absurdity of his complaint.

“I take it back,” he remarked and offered her his arm in amends. “But speaking of knowing… if Wentworth told you I was here, why were you so surprised to see me upstairs?” 

They reached the first floor and turned as one in the direction of the crime scene.

“I didn’t know it was you,” she explained.

“But - ”

“Well I’m sorry, Jack, but it was a rather hurried conversation and when Wentworth told me there was a boorish policeman looking for me, I just assumed it was -”

“Miss Fisher,” a deep voice sounded behind them. “We meet again.”

Jack felt Phryne’s hand around his bicep tighten briefly, then release. She turned them both in the direction of the voice, a too-bright smile suddenly plastered on her face.

“Inspector Carr! What a pleasant surprise,” she trilled, her voice higher than normal, which Jack knew meant that at least one part of her statement was untrue.

“Funny. I’m not surprised in the least to find you here,” Carr said dryly, slowly walking over to them. 

“Well, as you know, I am investigating - ”

“And I would love to ask you more about that. Perhaps you and…” Carr looked at Jack for an introduction.

“Mr Jack Robinson,” Phryne offered quickly, and Jack noted with interest that she had purposefully omitted his professional title. Not that it carried any weight in England, but still… interesting. “A dear friend of mine visiting from Australia,” she continued. “Just arrived tonight.”

“Is that so? You’re a long way from home. What brought you to England?” Carr asked.

“Why a boat, dear boy,” Jack replied and beside him he felt Phryne stifle a laugh.

Carr nodded at the evasion, his assessment of Jack as another rich dilettante now set. Good. Jack had assumed Phryne wanted him to play at underestimation when she failed to identify him as a police officer. Now if he could just suss out _why_ …

“Well, then, if you and Mr Robinson wouldn’t mind waiting for me in the study...” Carr gestured to one of the rooms down the hall from the gallery. “I have a few questions for you once I check in with my constable.”

“Certainly, Inspector,” Phryne said pleasantly, leading Jack in the direction of the door Carr had indicated.

“Thank you,” Carr said in a most unthankful manner. “I will just be a moment.”

Jack and Phryne entered the study and she immediately pulled him to sit in one the chairs by the door. She then took the other one, falling in with a huff.

“Well this complicates things. I was rather hoping to investigate without constabulary interference, but it looks like I’m stuck with him for the night.”

“Phryne, I estimate we have about three minutes until he comes back. Perhaps now would be a good time to tell me any other relevant details to the case and why you didn’t want Inspector Carr to know I’m police.”

“Yes, of course - I can, and _will_ , rail against the man later. So, relevant details. All three thefts were of Pissarros. All were from the same lot at Sotheby's. All three occurred during large public events in the house - ”

“Even the first?” Jack asked. She’d failed to mention that detail earlier.

“Yes, Alastair hosted a charity luncheon for some committee his wife is on the day it was taken. I happened to be in attendance, and despite a rather excellent G&T, the whole thing was completely uneventful, but I do believe that is when it was stolen. Of course I’ve no proof it was taken during the event, but given the timeline of the day, and the circumstances of the other two thefts, I think it’s a fair assumption.”

“But there were only three Pissarros at the auction, correct?”

“Correct.”

“So what was stolen tonight?”

Phryne’s mouth became a predatory slash of red as she smiled that smile she had when she was being particularly clever.

Jack adored that smile.

“There were no more Pissarros, but there _were_ three paintings by Alfred Sisley, and as my research indicated that the two men often worked together, and had similar subjects…”

“You assumed one of the Sisleys might be next,” Jack concluded.

“Precisely. And since this was the next Sisley owner holding a public event, I dropped a hint to Lord Hawkins that I would love to attend and, voilà, here I am. Then it was a simple matter of watching the painting all night. Except apparently Carr managed to work out the same thing because he had a constable in there all night who wouldn’t let me near it. I had to settle for Plan B - guards, such as they are, at the doors and try to keep a close eye on my suspects.”

“And Carr? Why not just tell him who I am?”

“Inspector Carr, despite being of above average intelligence, is of below average civility. I get the impression he doesn’t care for the wealthy, and he seems to have something against me personally, despite my assurances that I am, in fact, a professional detective. He’s highly suspicious of me for some reason, watches me like a hawk when he’s around, and doesn’t let me anywhere near the investigation. Which is, incidentally, why I’ve been avoiding him all night - successfully up to now.”

Jack considered her strategy. “So why not tell him I’m a fellow officer? Perhaps play to the brothers in arms angle?”

“I considered it,” Phryne admitted glancing towards the open door to make sure they were still alone, “but I decided that might just make him suspicious of you as well. If he thinks you're just some goof here to bed me, he’ll dismiss you as irrelevant to the case and it might grant _you_ some leeway even if I don’t have any. Which I’m _hoping_ gives us more freedom to work later on.” 

She shrugged knowing the plan was far from foolproof but was the best they had, and Jack was struck by the realization that in the twenty seconds between Carr announcing himself and her introducing him to Jack, she had thought up and discarded multiple options before landing on the one she thought most effective. A wave of affection rushed through him for the brilliant woman sitting before him. And then he remembered the bed comment and another, less chaste emotion, took its place. He shook it off, and tried to focus on the case at hand.

“So,” Jack began as he tried to put the puzzle pieces together, “you mentioned suspects?”

“Yes. As I said, all the thefts occurred during public events and I have managed to narrow down the number of people who attended all four, counting tonight.”

“So, what’s the damage?” Jack asked cautiously, knowing how incestuous these society types were with their guest lists.

Phryne smiled victoriously. “Five.”

“Really?”

“Mmmm hmmmm. There were only five guests present at all of the robberies.”

“Six.”

Jack and Phryne turned as one to see Inspector Carr standing in the doorway, his constable behind him.

“I’m sorry?” Phryne asked. 

“There were six people present at all of the robberies,” Carr stated as fact.

“Who - I’m quite sure there were only five. Who is the sixth?” Phryne asked, genuinely confused.

“You, Miss Fisher.”

“Oh. Well, yes I suppose - ”

“And having studied the six of you in depth, I believe I’ve found my thief.”

“Oh?” Phryne arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, her dry tone heavily tinged with both curiosity and skepticism. “Well do tell, Inspector, we’re all ears.”

Carr nodded, gestured to his constable to enter, then turned back to Phryne and Jack.

“Gladly. Phryne Fisher, I’m arresting you on suspicion of theft.”


	4. Chapter 4

“What???” Phryne and Jack both said - and stood - in unison, shocked at the turn of events.

“You’re under arrest,” Carr reiterated calmly.

There was silence for a moment as Phryne and Jack processed the statement.

“Why?” Phryne finally asked.

“You said it yourself,” Carr answered. “There were only six guests, including you, present at all four robberies. I’ve excluded the household staffs myself, and the only thing that makes sense is a guest.”

“Alright, but why Miss Fisher specifically?” Jack asked, forgetting for a moment his role. 

Carr raised an eyebrow at the question, but answered anyway. “Because she seems to have the most opportunity and resources of everyone in the pool of suspects. Point 1: The robberies didn’t begin until Miss Fisher returned to the country. Point 2: Miss Fisher has been actively nosing around every crime scene both before and after the thefts. Point 3: Via her father’s... questionable acquaintances, Miss Fisher has the connections to fence the stolen art. Point 4: Miss Fisher was seen tonight at the crime scene by my constable both before and after the theft, whereas all of the other suspects were in the ballroom with me most of the night."

Phryne rolled her eyes and began her rebuttal. “Point 1: The robberies didn’t begin until after the auction where all the pieces were sold, and you know that because you being here tonight means you made the same connection I did. Point 2: I have been actively nosing around every crime scene because _I am a private detective_ and have been retained by the first victim to find the thief.”

“Actually, Miss Fisher, you _offered_ your services to Alastair Watts. Which is a terribly clever way to avoid suspicion, I must say.”

“Point 3,” Phryne continued, more annoyed than anything else. “I barely speak to my father, let alone plan crime sprees with him, and if you’d done your due diligence on my background you’d know that. Point 4: I was at the crime scene for the same reason your constable was - to prevent the crime from occurring, though sadly neither of us seem to have been very successful."

In response Carr just shrugged his shoulders. “I appreciate you wanting to mount a defence, Miss Fisher, but I’m not a jury of your peers, and as the inspector assigned to this case, I’ve come to determine it’s you. Unless I’m presented with a more compelling option, I’m going to have to bring you into the station.” Phryne rolled her eyes and Carr crossed his arms. “I assure you, Miss Fisher, I am not making these accusations lightly. I have solid evidence; my sources have you trying to make contact with black market brokers.”

“As a potential _buyer_!” Phryne exclaimed.

“Why would you need to buy art off the black market?”

“How about, to see, if it’s stolen?” she said, her staccato pronunciation of each phase clipping along to emphasize her point.

Carr opened his mouth to respond, but Phryne cut him off with another question.

“What’s my motive?” she asked, eyes still narrowed at him, but her natural curiosity temporarily overwhelming her irritation.

“Well, you could be shoring up your finances after the London and New York crashes, but if I had to guess, I’d say boredom. You’re obviously an extremely intelligent woman, Miss Fisher, but you, like so many of your ilk, have too little to do. You lot cause a global financial crisis and you’re still bored.”

“I have plenty to do; I’m trying to catch a thief _despite_ your interference. And if I stole the painting, Inspector, I’d like to know where you think I’m hiding it in this outfit.”

With that, Phryne lifted her dress up to the knee and made an exasperated gesture with her hand in the general direction of her now uncovered legs. The constable standing behind Inspector Carr went bright red and averted his eyes, and in response Jack rolled his. _Oh Collins,_ his brain supplied before remembering that his Senior Constable was, in fact, back in Melbourne. Well. At least he now knew The Phryne Effect was a global phenomenon. 

“Clearly you pulled off the same trick you did in the other three houses,” Carr supposed, seemingly unaffected by Phryne’s display. “And once I figure out what that is, I’ll have everything I need.”

Carr then turned to his constable. “Constable Weber, please handcuff Miss Fisher to the desk. We’ll be bringing her down to the station just as soon as we’ve completed our work here.”

Phryne raised an eyebrow and stared at Carr, clearly debating whether or not to make this easy on him. She glanced at Jack and then seemed to come to a decision; Phryne shrugged off Weber’s hand - his somewhat sweet attempt to be helpful - and sat down at the desk with all the grace of a queen at her throne. She extended her gloved arm towards the constable and appeared to accept her fate. Weber fumbled a bit, but eventually handcuffed her to the giant oak desk that was the centerpiece of the room.

Jack watched the whole exchange quietly, trying to put himself in the Inspector's shoes. What did the man need, what was his next move, and, most importantly, how could Jack use that knowledge to help Phryne? Eventually he came up with a plan. Not a particularly good plan, but a plan all the same and, well, needs must. Jack cleared his throat and tried his best to channel every toff who’d ever sneered down at him over the last two decades. 

“This is outrageous!” Jack finally shouted, fully back to his role of rich and entitled.

“Be that as it may - ”

“Do you know who I am? Who The Honorable Miss Fisher is? Why, she should have your warrant card for this! I have half a mind to have it myself.”

“Sit down, Mr Robinson,” Carr ordered.

“I will not! I will not be bullied by a man who doesn’t know his place - ”

“You know what? I should arrest you too!” Carr snapped at Jack.

“For what?” Jack asked confidently. He knew the law too after all, even if he was playing a different role tonight.

“Aiding and abetting a suspect,” Carr shot back.

“Well not yet, he just got into town,” Phryne reminded everyone helpfully.

It took Jack a moment, but he got there.

“A- _bett_ -ing Miss Fisher, abetting,” Jack clarified quietly and with a slight blush at the tips of his ears.

“Oh,” she said with a seemingly innocent smile. “My mistake.”

Jack sighed. She was not taking this seriously at all, though why he was surprised at that in the least he didn’t know. Jack took a deep breath and got right back into character.

Turning to Phryne, he took her uncuffed hand in his as pretentiously as possible. “My dear, I will go and fetch your solicitor at once. I’m sure we’ll have all of this sorted by morning.” He gave her an awkward hug, which forced his hand onto the desk behind Phryne, and then stiffly stood up again. With a final harrumph and sneer at Carr, he turned and marched out of the room, across the hall, and into an alcove out of sight to wait.

Hidden in shadow, leaning against the wall, and waiting to see if his gambit paid off, Jack considered his performance. It was a remarkably satisfying exercise all in all. Perhaps the stage did beckon, just a little. Then he remembered that horrid reviewer. 

Perhaps not.

A moment later the door opened and both Carr and Weber stepped out, closing the door behind them. Jack saw Carr turn the key in the lock and pocket it, then give orders to his constable before they both disappeared down the stairs.

As soon as he was sure they were gone, Jack crossed back to the room and used the spare key he had pocketed from the desk to open the door. Once it was unlocked, he stepped into the room and closed it behind him, then turned to look at his partner to find she was looking right back.

“Hello Jack,” she greeted him softly, and the delighted expression on her face reminded him of when he had first arrived at Maiden Creek all those months ago. Suddenly he knew that despite everything that was happening tonight, she didn’t need him there; she never needed anyone. But she _wanted_ him there. And honestly that was so much better. 

“Are you alright?” he asked seriously, walking over to her. He knew she was fairly unflappable, but being accused of multiple thefts and then handcuffed to the furniture would do it for most people.

“All the better for seeing you,” she replied, and he was touched to realize it was, in fact, a shared moment of déjà vu. 

“No wine, though,” he joked, looking around the desk for a letter opener or paperclip, something to pick the lock on the handcuffs. 

“You’re here,” she said quietly. 

“Of course I am,” he replied. “I don’t even know who your solicitor is, I just thought it was the best way to get him to leave you unguarded. He wasn’t going to let his constable leave as long as I was there and I certainly wasn’t going anywhere while you - ”

“No,” she corrected, gently touching his face with her hand. “I mean, you’re _here_. In London. With me."

Jack paused in his actions and turned to kiss the palm on his cheek.

“Of course I am,” he repeated.

She nodded, and as happy tears filled her eyes, she stood up and used both hands to pull his face down to hers for a kiss. A proper kiss, their first without an audience. It wasn’t perfect - they bumped noses awkwardly as they met and Jack thought maybe he used too much tongue at first - but it was spectacular. It was _real_ , born of a real relationship and real feelings and real respect. It was poetry _and_ prose, and most importantly it was _them_.

If Jack was honest with himself, he would admit he’d imagined this first kiss a hundred different times, a hundred different ways.

This one left them all behind.

Slowly, reluctantly, they broke apart. Which is when Jack realized she was standing and holding his face with both hands. She saw the moment comprehension dawned on his face and with an unapologetic shrug of her shoulders reached back to pick up the handcuffs off the seat behind her, and return her lock picks to her décolletage.

“That constable didn’t search me at all. Really, Hugh Jr. needs a life lesson at the Green Mill in how to conduct a proper search.”

“You see it too, right?” Jack exclaimed and she laughed. 

“Oh yes, it’s uncanny. Or maybe they’re just grown that way at the academy these days?”

“Perhaps,” Jack conceded with a smile. “I’m afraid my academy days are long since behind me.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I like older men,” she assured him, wiping some of her lipstick from his lips with her thumb. “But just now I think we should go. I doubt Carr is coming back any time soon, but if he does I’d rather be out there investigating then in here explaining why I’m no longer restrained.”

Jack nodded and turned to move, but as he did, Phryne stopped him.

“This is the point of no return, Jack. You’re about to release a suspect from custody. No doubts as to my innocence?” she asked playfully, but with an undercurrent of sincerity. She knew Jack, knew that going against the orders of a fellow officer, no matter how misguided that officer may be, would be hard for him. But Jack knew _her_ , trusted _her_ , and he’d passed the point of no return long ago. 

“Point 5, Miss Fisher: If you _had_ stolen the paintings, they would have never have caught you.”

Phryne beamed at his response and Jack couldn’t help going in for another quick kiss at the sight. He kept it to a peck though, to prevent himself from getting carried away, and then continued moving towards the door.

Jack opened it a crack and looked out to check and see if the hall was safe. When he determined it was, he motioned for Phryne to follow him, then stopped her with a look.

“The handcuffs,” Jack said, reminding her she was still holding them. 

“Oh I’m keeping them,” she purred. “For later. The price of Carr’s poor judgment. Unless, of course, you brought yours from Melbourne?” she asked batting her eyelashes coquettishly. 

Jack sputtered for a second at the implication before meeting her eyes and seeing the humor in them. Ah, so she was teasing him. Well. Jack decided in that moment that in addition to ditching polite and prudent, he had also not come 10,000 miles to play it safe. Raising an eyebrow and tilting his head, he took the handcuffs from her hand and calmly deposited them in his jacket pocket. Phryne’s eyes widened a bit with surprise and then darkened, ever so slightly, and Jack felt assured he had made the right decision.

“Oh Jack,” she said after a moment and with a wicked grin, “this is going to be _fun_.” 

Then she did something completely unexpected: she perched up on her tiptoes and kissed the tip of his nose. The gesture was far too intimate given the newness of their relationship shift, and far too chaste given the extended time they had recently been separated, and far too adorable given the charged moment that had preceded it, and somehow, _somehow_ , it still managed to be just right.

“You know what, Miss Fisher? I do believe it will.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jack and Phryne silently crossed the hall, then made their way down the steps to the ground floor. The hallway was eerily quiet, no guests passing between rooms, but the ballroom was clearly full of people. Down at the other end of the hall by the front entrance-way there was a bored looking constable, but a quick glance told them it wasn’t Weber, and that whoever it was wasn’t paying the slightest attention to them. With a loud groan of disinterest, the unknown constable moved further towards the front door and out of sight. Phryne and Jack took the opportunity to cross stealthily to the open ballroom door and listen, unobserved by anyone inside. From their somewhat obstructed view, they could see that Carr was at the front, along with the host, Lord Hawkins, and that the policeman seemed to have gathered everyone there for an announcement.

“Ladies and gentleman,” they heard Carr’s deep voice address the room, “thank you for your attention. Unfortunately, there was an incident tonight at the party, and while thankfully no one was injured, we will need to question all of you before you leave. Lord Hawkins has graciously allowed me the use of the ground floor library for interviews, so please feel free to continue enjoying yourselves in here and in the dining room before and after we’ve spoken. Constable Rodgers,” and here Carr gestured to another police officer neither Phryne nor Jack had seen before, “will bring you in one at a time. Thank you.”

Realizing that Carr was done speaking, Phryne and Jack moved into a hidden alcove to avoid running into him. It was a small space, but comfortable enough for two people who didn’t at all mind being very very close just now. Phryne took a deep breath and Jack looked down at her, confused.

“Miss Fisher, are you… smelling me?” Jack whispered.

Phryne grinned up at him. “I happen to like your aftershave,” she whispered back. “And it’s been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure. I’ve missed… it.” She took another deep breath and then rested her head against his shoulder. 

He leaned down a little further and murmured in her ear. “Next time I’ll wear more.” 

“Don’t you dare,” she replied, and Jack could feel Phryne’s accompanying smile against his neck. In response, he hugged her a little closer to him, just because he could. 

From their hiding spot, they could hear Inspector Carr giving orders to Constable Rodgers. After a minute or so the senior officer left to set himself up in the library. Rodgers disappeared into the ballroom and reappeared a moment later accompanied by a young man, who Rodgers led to the library. Then the constable closed the door and proceeded to stand guard outside. By now several guests had left the ballroom and were moving to the dining room to get more food and gossip shamelessly about the evening’s events.

Phryne and Jack used the cover of the growing crowd to slip out of the alcove unnoticed, which is when Phryne saw the frown on her partner’s face.

“What’s wrong,” she asked.

“Something’s not right,” Jack answered. “There should be more men here. At least half a dozen searching the place, and another in with Carr to take notes during the interviews. But assuming Weber is still somewhere nearby, probably searching for the painting, that’s only three. And I don’t think the other two are even his officers. I can’t explain it, but there’s a kind of… shorthand, you have with your men. Carr had it with Weber, but not Rodgers. And I’d bet anything he doesn’t have it with that bored looking man at the front door. Too few and not his men.” Jack shrugged. “Something’s not right.”

Phryne considered his words before turning and heading immediately to the dining room. Jack followed quickly behind, not quite sure what she was up to, but well aware she was up to something.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked as she grabbed a plate and began piling it high with finger foods.

“We need more information,” she replied. “I think our best bet is to interview our five suspects and then get a look at the crime scene if we can.”

“Sounds reasonable. Is that for me?” he asked hopefully.

Phryne shot him an affectionate look. “Sadly no,” she told him. “But I promise to feed you soon.”

Then she whisked herself, the food, and her favourite Detective Inspector out the door, into the hall, and towards the entrance-way. Jack noticed the butler, Wentworth, sullenly lurking near the front door, but a subtle wink from Phryne let the older man know to stay silent.

Phryne plastered her brightest smile on and approached the constable who was clearly standing guard.

“Good evening, Constable!” Phryne trilled.

A noncommittal grunt was his only reply.

“I thought perhaps you might be hungry, so I’ve brought you some food.”

Constable Sourface perked up immediately at the mention of food, and he eagerly took the plate from her. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he managed between enthusiastic bites.

“Of course. It was so kind of you to help us sort through all of this unpleasantness. And everything happened so fast, I was worried you might not have eaten.” Phryne's voice was all warm appreciation, which Jack thought was probably genuine, mixed with utter innocence, which he knew was absolutely not. 

“No ma'am,” he agreed. “I’m supposed to be finishing up my shift now, but then the Inspector pulled me and Rodgers off our beat and put us to work here. And my missus made pot roast tonight!”

Phryne clucked sympathetically.

“So you and your friend were just on patrol in the area?” she asked casually.

“Mmmm. This is our regular beat. But I guess the Inspector needed help? Apparently there was some big dustup between a couple gangs down at Butler’s Wharf and it’s all hands on deck for the Met boys.” Constable SlightlyLessSourface shrugged. “So the Inspector grabs us off the street, tells me to make sure no one leaves, and starts ordering poor Rodgers around inside. And now the two of us are stuck here babysitting a bunch of toffs until the next shift comes on around ten.” He looked up suddenly. “No offence, ma’am. You seem like a real nice lady.”

“For a toff?” she inquired, amused despite the situation.

Constable NoLongerSourface blushed. “For anyone.”

Phryne flashed the young man a sincere smile. “Well you’re very welcome for the food, Constable, though it’s probably time we rejoined the rest of the toffs inside. Wentworth here can help you if you need anything else,” she said, gesturing to the older man, who nodded in reply.

The constable smiled at her and continued eating, his policeman’s lot a much happier one than it had been five minutes earlier.

With a final wave at the young man, Phryne took Jack’s arm and turned back towards the party. Glancing down the hall to make sure neither Carr nor Weber were nearby, they ducked into the ballroom and found two chairs at a table partially obscured by a fern, perfect to compare notes.

“Well that answers that,” Phryne said. “Carr’s working with a skeleton crew because all his regular men are occupied.”

“Mmmmm,” Jack said, purposefully looking at the crowd and not her. “Expertly done by the way,” he mumbled.

“What?” Phryne asked, immediately picking up on his slightly petulant demeanor.

Jack turned back to her and frowned. “Nothing, just… was I that easy?”

Phryne laughed in response, the action throwing her head back slightly, and suddenly Jack forgot all about Carr, constables, and gratin in lieu of several fantasies involving kissing his way from her ear to her collarbone uninterrupted. She reached over and took his hand, grounding him once more in the moment.

“You were never easy, darling, but you _were_ interesting and that was so much better.”

Jack smiled slightly at her answer. Then, because kissing her would have attracted far too much attention, reached out two fingers and ran them softly, slowly down the long column of her neck.

“Sorry,” he said, “you have something, just here.”

“What?”

“My hand.”

She laughed again, and this time he could feel the movement against the pads of his fingers as he trailed them across her skin.

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do,” Phryne teased, though there was a breathless quality to her tone.

“Thou hast damnable iteration; and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint,” he replied with a slightly wicked smile, and a wink. He expected her to keep teasing him, but instead her eyes got impossibly soft.

“Oh, I have missed you, Jack,” she confessed, quiet and sincere.

Jack cleared his throat and, extremely reluctantly, removed his hand from her person before it became completely inappropriate, but not before tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I assure you, Miss Fisher, the feeling is entirely mutual.”

Phryne smiled, then took a deep breath. “Well, lest faith turn to despair, let’s wrap up this investigation so you can give me my sin again… or for the first time, as the case may be.”

Jack tilted his head in agreement, then frowned as she reached over and began rummaging through his inside jacket pocket. 

“What are you - ”

“Aha!” she exclaimed victoriously, pulling a small notebook and pen out. “You can take the man out of City South, but you can’t take the City South out of the man.”

Jack rolled his eyes as she flipped it open and began writing. She wrote a different name on the top of five separate pages and then handed it back to him.

“For anything you find relevant,” she explained. “I know how you like to work.”

Jack nodded then looked down and read each of the names out loud. “Gideon Chester. Jonathan Langdon. Stella Burgess. Michael Owens. Daphne Fleming. Alright, what have you got so far?”

Phryne scanned the room, looking for faces that matched any of the names on her list. She spotted one by the door, clearly trying to hear anything of interest that was happening in the hall.

“Jonathan Langdon. 27-year-old reporter for _The Times._ He _was_ covering the society beat, which is ostensibly why he was at both Alastair’s charity event and the birthday party. _However_ ,” she said, drawing the word out like taffy, “his articles on the thefts have recently secured him a prime spot on the coveted crime beat, mostly because he seems to know an awful lot about them. Far more than he should, actually, which is suspicious in and of itself. Plus he’s made quite a name for himself off these robberies.”

“And you think that’s motive enough to risk prison?”

“Don’t ever underestimate what a reporter will do for a scoop, Jack.”

“Point taken,” he conceded.

Phryne looked around again and spotted a bored looking woman by the band.

“Stella Burgess. Twenty-nine, rich as sin and just as fun. She’s basically a professional thrill seeker. An aviatrix who’s flown all across Europe, run with the bulls in Pamplona, gone on safari in Africa, and climbed Kilimanjaro.”

“So she’s you,” Jack noted dryly, not looking up from his notes.

“Hardly. She doesn’t have a Hispano-Suiza or a plucky sidekick.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Collins will be glad to know she’s on par with your automobile.”

“Jaaaaack. Clearly I meant you.”

He did look up at that, flashing her a look of fond exasperation, before scribbling down more details.

“Also, she comes from old money, so she can get away with almost anything and her family name protects her.”

“Motive?” Jack asked.

“Ironically, very similar as Carr’s motive for me. I mean, what greater thrill is there than getting away with a crime?”

“Solving one has always done it for me,” he tossed out, and she grinned in response. 

“Well that’s the excellent company, I expect. There’s also a rumor she took a bath in September’s Stock Exchange crash, but I haven’t been able to confirm or deny that yet.” Phryne craned her neck looking around again, but didn’t spot anyone else on her list right away. 

“So what do you think, Jack, will Carr make off with our suspects before we can interview them ourselves?”

Jack considered the question for a moment. 

“No, I don’t think so. If it was me, I’d interview everyone else first. Get the clearest picture of events, and hope I could trip up the thief with that knowledge later. I’d say you six will be the last on his list.”

Phryne shot him a thoroughly unamused look at being included in the suspect pool. Then she did one more sweep of the room with her eyes before turning back to Jack.

“Well, then, who do you want to start with - the reporter or the thrill seeker?”

“The reporter. He’s going to be itching to talk to someone - might as well be us.”

Phryne nodded as Jack put the notebook back inside his pocket. Then the two of them stood, Phryne holding Jack’s hand again, and he tried very hard not to read into the gesture. Casually walking over to Langdon, Phryne grabbed two flutes of champagne and handed one to Jack. 

“You might as well look the part, darling.”

They soon found themselves standing next to a short, eager looking man with brown hair, large ears and intelligent eyes, who, to Jack’s mind, bore an unfortunate resemblance to a beagle. 

Phryne pretended not to notice him, but began speaking loudly to Jack instead.

“I can’t believe we’re being held here for questioning. London used to be much more fun, Jack, I swear. It’s terrible - no one knows anything. Why, Inspector Carr was just telling me the other day - ”

That got Langdon’s attention.

“Miss Fisher!” he rounded on the couple with a speed that only served to make the beagle comparison stick.

Phryne turned as though just seeing him. “Oh hello, Mr….?”

“Langdon. Jonathan Langdon. Reporter for _The Times_? We met at that author's event last week.”

“Oh yes, of course. May I introduce my escort for the evening, Mr Jack Robinson.”

“Of the Richmond Robinsons,” Jack added, deciding he should sound the part as well. He could practically feel Phryne stifle an eye roll. “How do you do, Mr Langdon?” he asked, shaking the man’s hand jovially, while continuing to look bored at the evening in general. Really, he clearly had _far_ too much material to draw on for this role.

“I’d be better if someone was talking to me. Inspector Carr’s being irritatingly closed lip on this case.” He turned to address Phryne again. “Though apparently he’s been talking to you?”

A hunting dog; intelligent but single-minded. 

“And why would he do that?”

“Perhaps he’s decided he needs the help of a lady detective. A lady detective who I would love to interview.”

“Well you do do your homework, Mr Langdon, I’ll give you that. But why should I talk to you?”

Langdon considered it. “We could trade information,” he offered.

Phryne pretended to be conflicted. Then she sighed deeply and nodded.

“Very well, I’ll tell you what he told me. But how do I know you have anything to offer in return?”

Langdon glanced around, then leaned in conspiratorially.

“There was another robbery tonight. A Sisley this time.” Langdon leaned back on his heels, clearly proud of himself, either for working it out or for pulling it off.

Phryne just crossed her arms. “That’s hardly information, Mr Langdon. What else do you have?”

The man’s face fell a little at that. Poor pup.

“Alright - how’s this? Someone started a fire in the servants’ stairwell tonight. As a distraction, I assume.”

“Now that is interesting,” Phryne agreed. She leaned in a little closer as well, showing off her dress to its best advantage and letting Langdon get “The Full Phryne”, which clearly rattled even the ace reporter. “I don’t suppose you know who?” she purred.

“Uh, no, no. But word is that constable they had guarding the Sisley was able to extinguish it in mere minutes. Not a lot of time to steal and hide a large painting, now is it?”

The man sounded like he was bragging again, and Jack watched him closely to try and see if it was getting the information or performing the trick that he was actually proud of.

“Not a lot of time at all,” Phryne agreed. “Anything else?” she asked.

Langdon coughed and took a step back, clearly trying to keep a level head given the circumstances. Jack almost pitied the man.

Almost.

“Actually, Miss Fisher,” Langdon began, “I think I’ve given you quite enough to start. It’s your turn. What can _you_ offer _me_?”

Phryne flashed him her highest watt society smile. “Well, it’s just like Inspector Carr was telling me the other day - no comment.”

Then she grabbed Jack by the arm and moved them away from Langdon so fast they were gone before he could start sputtering a protest.

The hunt, it seemed, had not gone his way.

A moment later, Jack found himself on the opposite side of the room strolling up to a cool looking blonde in a light blue dress that matched her eyes. She was extremely pretty in a very conventional way, but, Jack realized, not at all his type though he didn’t know why exactly. She still appeared bored, but she had champagne now as well, and was surveying the room for some distraction.

Enter Phryne Fisher.

“Stella!” she trilled, approaching the other woman quickly and reaching out to kiss her cheeks. Stella Burgess responded in kind and then stepped back once more.

“Phryne, darling! Lovely to see you! I heard you’d be here, but when you weren’t around for all the action, I assumed I’d been misled.” A quick once over of Jack, and the woman’s smile became salacious. “Though, perhaps you didn’t miss _all_ the action after all.”

Jack raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in acknowledgement, managing not to blush at all. He really was a credit, he decided, to the Richmond Robinsons.

“Jack Robinson,” he said, raising her hand to his mouth for a kiss. This time Phryne didn’t even try to stifle the eye roll. “Newly arrived from Australia and Miss Fisher’s escort for the evening.”

“Lucky Miss Fisher,” Stella said. To her credit though, that seemed to end matters for her. “Oh, but if you’re from Australia, you must know all about Phyne’s detective business!”

“A bit,” he admitted, not willing to give up too much information to a suspect.

“Isn’t it thrilling?” Stella gushed. “I love it. Catching murderers and jewel thieves while I was stuck doing the London season with Mother.” Her expression of disdain made it clear who she thought had got the better deal there.

“But the season’s long over,” Phryne noted. “And you’re still in London. I’ll admit, I had thought you’d be off on your next big adventure by now.”

“Well the truth is,” Stella said, with a small secret smile, “I’m finding London holds plenty of adventures these days.”

“Does it really?” Phryne asked. “Care to share?”

Stella considered, then leaned in a little towards Phryne. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve been studying with Howard Thurston!”

Phryne’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“The magician?”

“Yes! He’s teaching me all kinds of illusions. But sadly, he’s going back to America next month, so I’m afraid I’m trying to learn everything I can while he’s here.”

“And what are you hoping to do with all this knowledge once you’ve acquired it?” Jack asked conversationally.

Stella’s grin became almost feline.

“Oh darlings… something absolutely spectacular.”

“Well I wish you the best of luck with all that, Stella. Too bad you can’t make us disappear from this party though,” Phryne added wistfully. “Another society event rudely interrupted.”

“Oh it’s terribly exciting though. Another art theft! It simply has to be. I feel almost lucky to be here - a real game of cat and mouse!” Stella frowned. “Though that Inspector Carr doesn’t seem exactly up to the task, does he? Four thefts and no leads? That irritating reporter from _The Times_ seems to know much more than he does.” Stella tilted her head as a thought occurred. “Actually, I would think this would be exactly your scene, Phryne. Tell me, why aren’t you out trying to solve the case?”

Phryne laughed carelessly. “I’m on holiday, Stella. And unlike crime, I actually do take them.”

“Too bad,” Stella said, her expression becoming slightly enigmatic. “I really would like to see you try.”

Phryne shrugged her elegant shoulders and sighed. “Maybe next crime wave, darling.” She gave Jack a sideways glance. “I’m afraid I have more pressing matters.”

Stella tilted her head in acknowledgement as Phryne linked her arm through Jack’s.

“And I’m so sorry, you’ll have to excuse us now; I’ve been a terrible hostess and haven’t fed Jack at all yet. Talk soon!”

And with that Phryne and Jack nodded their goodbyes and began walking back out to the hallway, careful to avoid running into Jonathan Langdon or any member of the constabulary.

Once they were out of the crowded ballroom, they returned to their hidden alcove. Jack stood outside with his back to the library this time, affording them both cover and slightly more room than before, and he tried not to smile when he noticed Phryne’s disappointment at the new position.

“Well,” she began, watching him scribble in his notepad, “what do you think?” 

“Langdon’s ambitious as hell, and awfully proud of himself, but I don’t know whether that’s in the crime - ”

“Or the scoop,” she concluded. “Agreed. And, uh, what about the lovely Miss Burgess? What did you think of her?”

“For the crime? I think she’s being evasive, but I’ve no idea why. And for some reason she seems eager to test out your detective skills as well. You don’t have an arch nemesis I’m just now learning about, do you?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but the night is young, Jack; I’ll keep you posted.” Phryne pursed her lips slightly as she thought. “The magic’s pretty interesting too, don’t you think? Though it’s really not unusual for her to throw herself into some new and exciting endeavor for a few months at a go. Another trait we share, I suppose.”

“The motive is still weak,” Jack noted. “For both of them.”

Phryne nodded in agreement, mulling over Jack's deductions, which were clearly in line with her own. Then she paused, his words catching up with her.

“Wait, you said for the crime. I asked what you thought of her and you answered ‘for the crime?’”

“Did I?” he asked innocently.

“Yes.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. “What did you think of her in general?”

“Despite her devastating lack of an Hispano-Suiza?”

“Jaaaack….”

“I thought she was charming and beautiful and did absolutely nothing for me. And you know, for the last ten minutes I’ve been trying to suss out exactly why she’s not my type. I think I just figured it out.”

“Oh? Care to share with the class?” Phryne asked.

He shrugged, a simple action belying the complicated feelings she evoked in him.

“She’s not you,” he said quietly. 

Phryne grinned, delighted at his answer, and brought his face down to hers for another stolen kiss. When she was done, she pulled back just a little and looked him in the eye.

“Now that’s the plucky sidekick I know and love,” she whispered, half cheeky, half adoringly.

Jack started slightly at the admission. Letters were one thing, but to hear it from her own lips…

“Phryne…” he began, uncertain himself how he planned to finish the sentence.

“Not the time?” she asked, with just a hint of uncertainty herself.

Jack blew out a breath. “We’re mid-case, you’re technically under arrest, and I’m an accessory to a crime my first night in England.”

“Well, when you put it that way - ”

“Honestly, I can’t think of a better time,” he confessed, kissing her again, until her back was against the alcove wall and she began making small distracting noises into his mouth. 

Reluctantly, _sooooo_ reluctantly, he pulled back. 

“And, in case I was unclear, I love you too. Now, let’s solve this damn case so we can get out of here and I demonstrate that fact properly. Or if you prefer,” he added with an almost wolfish grin, “very very improperly.” He shrugged with feigned nonchalance, but never took his eyes off her. “Lady’s choice.”

She grabbed his hand and practically sprinted to the dining room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair...Give me my sin again,” is from _Romeo and Juliet._
> 
> “O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint,” is from _Henry IV, Part 1._
> 
> Flirting via Shakespeare is from _Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries_.


	6. Chapter 6

With Rodgers still occupied bringing guests in and out of the ballroom, Phryne and Jack easily made it down the hall and into the dining room unseen. Once inside, Phryne began looking around for anyone on her suspect list. 

Jack began looking at the food.

With a light laugh, she directed him to make himself a plate and walked with him as he did. As he reached for some sandwiches, she discreetly pointed to an attractive looking couple engrossed in conversation in the far corner. They were both young, the woman slightly more so. She had light red hair, and wore a bright blue dress that sparkled slightly as she turned. The man had dark brown hair and gesticulated wildly with his hands when he spoke.

“Daphne Fleming and her fiancé, Michael Owens. Daphne is a few years older than Dot, and heir to a rather substantial manufacturing fortune. We met a few times about town before I left for Australia. I don’t know too much about Michael except that he’s American, and also, apparently, very wealthy. He seems to be quite new to town, and spends almost all his time with Daphne.” Phryne leaned in closer to brush some crumbs off Jack’s jacket, her hand lingering longer than was, strictly speaking, necessary. “Rumor has it her parents are lukewarm at best on the engagement.”

Jack finished his snack, and straightened his bowtie.

“How shall we approach them?” he asked.

“Well, given their new… situation, I do have an idea. But I’ve got a feeling you might not like it,” Phryne said.

“I’ve got a feeling I’m going to hate it,” Jack said, quickly realizing what she had in mind and sighing. “But let’s do it anyway.”

“That’s the spirit, darling,” she encouraged, grabbing his arm and leading him over to the couple. As they got closer, they could see that the two were speaking in hushed tones, and Michael seemed upset. Daphne was clearly trying to calm him, but both stopped speaking altogether as Phryne and Jack approached.

“Daphne?” Phryne called out. “Daphne Fleming? My goodness, it is you! How are you, my dear?”

“Miss Fisher, what a pleasant surprise! I knew you were back in town, but I don’t think we’ve had a chance to catch up properly.”

“Clearly,” Phryne said, with a pointed nod to Michael.

“Yes, how rude of me,” Daphne fussed. “This is my fiancé, Michael Owens.”

“A pleasure,” he said quietly with an unmistakable American accent.

“Jack Robinson,” Jack said, introducing himself. “New York?” 

“Uh, yes. Yes. How did you - ”

“I served with a number of men from New York in the War. Good group. _Loud_ ,” Jack said with some amusement, “but loyal, and with good hearts.”

“Yeah, that’s us,” Michael agreed, relaxing slightly.

“Miss Fisher,” Daphne said, starting to move away, “I would so love to chat, but you see - ”

“Oh you can’t leave just yet!” Phryne exclaimed. “I’ve so much to ask you.”

“Ask me?” Daphne said, confused.

“About the wedding, dear. You see,” she shot Jack an adoring look, “I’ve just become engaged myself.”

“Oh that’s marvelous! Congratulations!” Daphne clapped her hands together in excitement. “Isn’t it the absolute best?”

Michael reached out to shake Jack’s hand, beaming from ear to ear.

“It is,” Phryne agreed. “And I’ll definitely need your advice before the big day. But first, I want to hear all about the courtship. I’ve missed so much you see, being away, and I’d love to get the whole story.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s so interesting,” Daphne demurred.

“Nonsense! So how did you two meet?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Michael observed, tugging nervously on his dinner jacket cuffs. The action drew Jack’s eye to the hem, which looked a bit worse for wear. Odd.

“Miss Fisher is a detective,” Daphne explained pointedly, and Michael suddenly looked very nervous.

“On holiday, _on holiday_ ,” Phryne insisted. “Why does nobody believe me?”

“Because you can take the girl out of Melbourne, but you can’t take the Melbourne out of the girl?” Jack sassed; Phryne jabbed him softly in the ribs in retaliation.

“Women, can’t live with them, can’t even conceive of living without them, am I right, Mr Owens?” Jack asked genially.

His attention on the door, Michael didn’t respond.

“Mr Owens?” Jack repeated.

Daphne tapped him on the arm and Michael started, then turned back to the group. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

“Nevermind,” Jack waved off. “So what brought you to London?”

“Work,” Daphne answered quickly. “Michael’s father owns some property here, so Michael came over last year to help him manage it. But now he’s ready to strike out on his own. He’s going into publishing,” she said proudly. “He’s working for the Jonathan Cape publishing firm now.”

“I like books,” Michael explained, still clearly nervous and still half-eyeing the exit. 

“Well, you and Jack have that in common. Perhaps we can all get together for tea soon?”

Jack looked at Phryne with a slightly besotted smile, and not just because he was playing the lovestruck fiancé at the moment. He knew Phryne well enough to see that she was both trying to pump them for information and also issuing a genuine invitation. As far as Phryne Fisher was concerned, as long as you weren’t a criminal, you were a friend, and even that rule probably had more wiggle room than Jack wanted to know about. _Biggest heart in the Empire_ , he thought, the smile growing just a little bit wider. 

“That would be lovely,” Daphne agreed. “But I did promise Michael a dance. Would you excuse us now?”

“Of course.” As the young couple turned to leave, Phryne took Daphne’s arm. “And if there’s anything _else_ you want to talk about, I’m here.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” And with that the two attempted to make an exit so swift, Michael ran right into Jack. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Michael apologized.

Jack clasped the man on the back. “No, no it’s fine. Enjoy the dance.”

“Yes, yes, sorry again.” And then they were gone.

The two detectives watched them disappear out the door, then Phryne turned to Jack.

“So, did you hate it?”

“I didn’t love it. But needs must. And it was the best tactic.”

“Still…”

“Phryne, it’s fine. Really.” He looked back to reassure her with a small but sincere smile. “I’ve no delusions you want to marry me and no particular need to marry you. That’s not why I came.” Then he leaned down, kissed her cheek and took out his notebook. He started to make a few notes while they were fresh in his mind, his back turned to the room. Phryne looked like she still wanted to say something, but refrained, scanning the room again instead. 

“Aha!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “Suspect number five, currently deep in conversation with our host, Lord Hawkins.” Phryne gestured subtly across the room where a man about their age was speaking with another who appeared to be in his early 60s. The older man had white hair, a cane and practically screamed “moneyed.” The younger man was tall and handsome, in a sort of boring way, all teeth and good breeding. He had wavy brown hair, and was wearing an easy smile and a very expensive suit. 

“Gideon Chester,” Phryne began. “Mid-thirties, terribly cultured, far too solicitous, and the third son of the Earl of Coventry. Rumor has it he’s looking for a Dollar Princess.”

“A what?” Jack asked.

“Wealthy American woman. New money. Her family is looking for a boost in respectability, his is looking for an influx of cash. A match made in High Street. It happens all the time,” Phryne explained.

“Well that’s terribly romantic,” Jack noted dryly. 

“It’s pragmatic,” Phryne responded with a shrug. “Not everyone is lucky enough to stumble upon such a brilliant and beautiful detective.”

“Well when you put it that way, I suppose I am rather lucky.”

“Oh darling,” she said leaning in closer, a move he mirrored subconsciously until they were a mere breath apart, “I was talking about me.” Then she winked, kissed his cheek, and started to sashay over to the pair. 

Shaking his head, Jack put away his notebook and caught up to her quickly. As they approached the host, Phryne went into “Society Mode”, her smile bigger, her posture better, her charm nearly visible to the naked eye. As they neared the two men, the older one looked up and smiled, clearly delighted to see Phryne. 

Jack could hardly blame him.

“Phryne, my dear, how are you? When I didn’t see you in the ballroom I worried you’d left early.”

“Charlie, when have you ever known me to leave a party early?” Phryne said with a laugh and the older man responded in kind. “No, no I’m afraid I was just welcoming my guest from Australia. His ship arrived early so he was able to join me after all.”

“How fortuitous,” the older man bellowed. Then he held out his hand to Jack. “Lord Charles Hawkins. Pleased to make the acquaintance of any friend of Phryne's.”

“Jack Robinson.” Jack then held his hand out to the other man in kind.

“Gideon Chester,” the younger man said, introducing himself. Then Gideon turned to Phryne, who also reached out her hand.

“A pleasure to meet you,” she said. “The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher.”

Gideon nimbly readjusted their hand positions and raised hers to his lips. “I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.”

“Clearly,” Phryne said, in a tone that probably came off as teasing to someone who didn’t know her as well as Jack. Then she turned her attention to Lord Hawkins. “Charlie, I just heard. How awful. How are you and Julia holding up?”

“Oh it’s a shock certainly. But in the end it’s just property and that’s what insurance is for. At least no one was hurt.” He leaned in a little and spoke in a quieter tone. “And between you and me, I think Julia is enjoying the attention a bit.” He nodded across the room where the woman Jack had first met at the crime scene was surrounded by other women her age, all simply _shocked_ , and telling each other how much.

Jack angled himself so he had his back to them. No sense being outed as police - dubious as that claim might be in England - just yet.

“Still,” Phryne continued, “to lose something so lovely.” She tsked sadly at the thought.

“Absolutely, my dear.” Gideon shook his head as well. “I think it’s horrid, the whole affair. I have a special appreciation for art and culture…” he looked over at Phryne suggestively, “really anything of beauty.” 

Jack watched the man fawn with amusement. It was artifice, but it was well done. 

“A terrible blow to the art world,” Phryne agreed. “I would imagine people might be afraid to purchase art just now.”

“Perhaps.” Lord Hawkins considered the idea. “Oh, that’s right, you’re a detective now. Oh how marvelous, are you investigating the thefts?” Before she could answer Lord Hawkins was onto another idea. “Oh, do you know who would have an interesting take on all this? Agatha.” He scanned the room for a moment before his eyes caught on a woman standing by herself at the far end of the buffet table. “Agatha! Agatha come here for a moment, won’t you dear?”

Lord Hawkins' booming voice carried across the room and startled the woman in question. Flustered, she quickly made her way over to the group. Agatha - whoever she was - was tall, with light brown hair, thin lips and wide eyes. She had on a dark blue dress, which was perfectly lovely, if not terribly daring, and even from a distance it was clear she was less used to the society scene than those around her - her walk less elegant, her manner less refined. Jack wondered who she was and why she had been invited.

When she joined them, Lord Hawkins made introductions.

“Miss Agatha Benson. Agatha works at Sotheby's. She’s been a big help there.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say…”

“Nonsense my dear. From what I hear you’ve assisted with a great number of the new initiatives they’ve put in place these last few years.”

“Really?” Phryne asked, clearly impressed. “I’d love to hear more. Miss Phryne Fisher,” she said, reaching out to shake the woman’s hand. Jack followed suit, introducing himself as well. When the three turned to Gideon to do the same, he just smiled.

“Hello Miss Benson.”

“Mr Chester,” she responded, with slightly forced pleasantness. Jack wondered what the story was there.

“Oh that’s right, you know each other,” Lord Hawkins remembered. “School, right?”

“Yes,” Gideon answered. “We were at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris at the same time. Of course we didn’t have any classes together; I was studying painting and Miss Benson was studying theory.” He was still being terribly charming, but there was a derisiveness to the way he spoke of Agatha’s studies that Jack found interesting. Clearly Phryne did as well.

“Really,” she simpered. “How fascinating.” She was clearly angling to ask some more questions when their host interrupted her.

“Yes, Gid here is a top notch artist,” Lord Hawkins boasted, slapping the younger man’s back. “Specialized in landmarks, landscapes… that kind of thing.”

Gideon shook his head, smiling in a somewhat self-deprecating manner. “Alas, the spirit was willing but the talent was weak. But it did make me somewhat of an authority on the art, so if I can be of any assistance, Miss Fisher, in this or… any matter, just say the word.”

Gideon turned away then to grab another drink and so missed both Phryne and Agatha’s looks of annoyance at his offer. Apparently neither his flirting nor knowledge of art were good enough to impress actual experts in those fields. 

“So, about these initiatives…” Phryne turned expectantly to Agatha, but Lord Hawkins once again jumped in before the poor woman could speak.

“Yes, yes, Sotheby's is at the forefront of modern business practices and somehow our Agatha always seems to be in the right place at the right time. You know they let art students in to look at the pieces before they go to auction? They’ve got some wonderful exchange programs with other auction houses in Europe and they even have a lending program designed to drum up interest in upcoming auctions.”

“Really?” Jack asked. “How does that work, Miss Benson?”

Agatha paused for a moment, as though she expected to be interrupted before she could speak. When she was not, she gave a small smile and answered Jack’s question. “A few months before an auction, we loan out some of the less valuable pieces to our more high profile clients so their friends and family can see them in situ, as it were, before bidding. Helps drive up interest.”

“That’s very clever,” Phryne complimented.

“Yes, we have one now, actually, from an upcoming _American Impressionists_ collection,” Lord Hawkins noted. “Upstairs. Be happy to show you.” He frowned. “Well, I _will_ be happy to show you. Once Inspector Carr lets us back in of course.”

“Wonderful idea,” Gideon drawled. “And perhaps, Phryne, I could explain the piece to you?”

Without even turning to acknowledge the offer, Phryne declined. “No thanks. Actually, I was rather hoping I could solicit Agatha’s expertise.”

“Yes, perfect,” Lord Hawkins agreed. “Good for her to check on the piece as well, given the other thefts.”

“Other thefts?” Phryne asked, suddenly very interested.

“Yes, Sotheby's offered loaner pieces from that American collection to all the _Lost Impressionists_ winners if I’m not mistaken,” Gideon chimed in cheerfully. “Not the wisest move in retrospect, eh Aggie?”

Agatha’s mouth tightened slightly in what Jack read as anger before she looked away, embarrassed. “No,” she agreed finally. “Clearly it wasn’t. Two months ago it _seemed_ like a wonderful bit of publicity. But then these thefts…”

“Were those loaner pieces taken as well?” Jack asked.

“No, no, thank goodness,” Agatha reassured everyone. “Still, Sotheby's is, rightfully, nervous. I’ll be overseeing the return of the pieces a bit early for security reasons at the end of the week.”

“And they’re trusting you to do?” Gideon queried. “How progressive.”

Phryne looked like she was ready to either deck Gideon or give him the tongue lashing of his life, but before she could raise either her fist or her voice, their oblivious host once again commandeered the conversation.

“Pity,” Lord Hawkins sighed loudly. “I did so enjoy changing up the gallery a bit. I don’t suppose you could recommend anything new to us, my dear? Agatha is a gem, you know. She pointed us towards that charming Borghi sculpture, and then helped us find a Sophie Anderson oil painting and the most wonderful 19th century Japanese puzzle boxes for the library.”

“Special interests of mine,” she said, waving off the compliment. “It was no trouble.”

“Still, we absolutely love them, my dear.”

Even in the dim light of the dining room, Jack could see the blush form on her cheeks.

“So, Miss Benson, did you oversee the _Lost Impressionists_ auction as well?” Jack asked.

“No, no I was meant to assist, but I’m afraid I was arranging a shipment of pieces from France the week before and got caught across the Channel in that terrible storm. Took three days to finally catch the ferry. More’s the pity; I do love all those artists and I would have liked to be a part of that.”

“Well it seems the auction went off fine without you. Imagine that,” Gideon noted glibly, and Agatha nodded curtly.

“I suppose it did. Actually, would you all excuse me?” Agatha asked. “I’m feeling a little light headed after all that champagne and I think I’d like to sit down.”

Phryne looked at Jack and raised her eyebrow a fraction of an inch. He nodded back imperceptibly.

“Miss Benson, would you allow me to escort you to the hall? I believe I saw a settee out there and it’s much more quiet than either of the rooms.”

“Yes, alright. Thank you.”

Jack walked her out to the hall, sat her on the settee, and returned a moment later with a glass of water that she gratefully accepted.

Jack sat down beside her. “On behalf of all men, I apologize for Mr Chester’s behavior.”

Agatha started.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he was a little rude back there.”

Agatha waved her hand. “Oh that. He’s always been like that. I don’t even hear it half the time now.”

“Still…”

“It’s fine, Mr Robinson. Truly. As am I. You should really get back to Miss Fisher.” She rolled her eyes. “Especially since it was clear Gid is planning to make a play for her. Or rather, her bank account.”

Jack laughed.

“I’m not worried, Miss Benson. But thank you for the warning.”

Agatha smiled wanly.

“Thank you for the water, Mr Robinson. But really, I’m fine.”

Jack nodded, playing a bit for time, strategizing how best to continue questioning her. He was, after all, just another guest tonight. He finally landed on the universal language of gossip.

“Miss Benson,” he began slowly and a little conspiratorially, “since we have a moment and you _are_ the authority - was there anything particularly valuable about the Pissarros or the Sisley that were stolen? It’s just, well, these thefts are all anyone’s been talking about all night. And my knowledge of the art world is admittedly not what it should be, but it seems to me that there were much more valuable pieces in that collection.” 

It was almost certainly a more direct question than he should have been asking, given his cover, but luckily she still seemed slightly distracted and didn't seem to notice.

“Mr Robinson, value in art is always in the eye of the beholder. But if you’re talking about pounds, then yes, several of the other pieces went for larger bids. Not by much though; Pissarro and Sisley were every bit the geniuses that Manet and Renoir were. Genius is still genius even when it’s overshadowed.”

“Now that I did know,” Jack said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Phryne reenter the hall, and then move back into the ballroom. He stood from the settee. “Are you _sure_ you’re alright, Miss Benson?”

“Quite sure. Go rejoin the party.”

Jack nodded a goodbye, then entered the ballroom. Not seeing Phryne right away, he followed a hunch and returned to the hidden table she had briefed him at earlier. He found her there a moment later eating a large pastry.

“My reward,” she said picking up her fork for another bite. “For talking to Gideon Chester another five minutes.”

Jack barked out a laugh as he took a seat. “Not in the running to be his Dollar Princess then?”

“He’s lucky I didn’t stab him,” she said. “He got less subtle after you left, if you can believe such a thing possible.”

“I can actually. Miss Benson suggested as much. There’s clearly no love lost there. I gather she finds him arrogant and rude.”

Phryne gave a little harrumph and rolled her eyes, indicating she agreed with Agatha’s assessment of the man. And, knowing Phryne as he did, Jack thought perhaps she’d let Gideon know as well. 

“I take it you let him down easy then,” Jack said wryly. Her only response was an arched eyebrow, a small but vicious smile, and a rather purposeful bite of dessert. 

Jack chuckled, imagining Gideon’s reaction to Phryne’s decisive rejection. “Poor man, he must be devastated,” Jack said reaching for her fork to share. “Given the case I might even call him… depressionist.” He didn’t look up for a moment, just enjoyed the dessert and her silence. When he did spare a glance, she was glaring at him.

“That was a _terrible_ pun, and it speaks to the depths of my affection for you that I am still willing to sit here.” She reached across to grab the fork. “But you’ve lost dessert privileges.”

Jack began to make a noise of protest, but stopped when she took his hand in hers.

“Phryne?”

“Your hand, Jack! You have… ash on it.”

“Do I?” He looked down to examine his right hand, and true enough he did. 

“It must be from whoever started the fire! Jack, which of our suspects did you shake hands with tonight?” she asked excitedly, the first big clue of the evening.

Jack thought back, and then sighed. “Everyone except young Miss Fleming. And even she could have had her fiancé do the actual dirty work, as it were. It doesn’t help us much, I’m afraid.”

“On the contrary, Jack, it proves one of the suspects started the fire, or at the very least was quite near it. We’re on the right track!” He smiled his secret smile at her; Miss Fisher, ever the optimist. She blew a breath out though and admitted, “I do wish we had _something_ else that was solid though.”

“Oh!” Jack reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced a man’s billfold. “Perhaps we’ll find something in here. I relieved Mr Owens of it when he bumped into me,” he explained. “He was behaving very suspiciously and I thought this might provide some answers as to why.”

Phryne looked at him in shock.

“You picked his pocket?”

Jack shrugged. “Phryne, I already broke you out of police custody tonight. In for a penny, in for a… what’s bail usually set at these days?”

She laughed in glee - probably at realizing what a terrible influence she was on him - and grabbed the billfold. She started looking through it and then stopped, her hand on the young man’s identification card.

“Well, I think we have another solid lead, Jack.”

She placed the card on the table and Jack saw immediately what she meant.

Michael Owens was not Michael Owens.

He was Michael Maynard.

And if he wasn’t a thief, he was definitely a liar.


	7. Chapter 7

Phryne and Jack looked over the identification card. Michael Maynard, whoever he was, really was from the city of New York, but there wasn’t a lot of other information in the billfold. A few coins, a list of books, and a business card for a London solicitor, which they both found of particular interest.

“So what’s the next move?” Jack asked, turning one of the coins between his fingers.

Phryne considered. “Well, if we had more time I’d go to the solicitor's office and dig around. But given the time constraints… I think the blunt approach might be best.”

“I wasn’t aware you had any others,” Jack replied with a smirk.

“ _Charming_ freight train, darling. Covers all manner of sin.”

“Yes, well, if you’re interested, I think I see your targets standing on the tracks over there.”

Phryne turned her head to look where Jack was indicating. Sure enough, Daphne and Michael were standing about 20 feet away. They both looked anxious, but Jack noticed Michael was holding Daphne’s hand in a comforting manner nonetheless.

“Stay here,” Phryne instructed, getting up and walking straight over to the young couple. Jack watched her say a few words, and then loop her arm through the bewildered Daphne’s. Phryne began walking back to the table, chatting amiably to the girl about, he assumed, wedding details, with Michael following along, until all three were seated around the table with Jack.

“Charming,” Jack whispered to Phryne.

She just tossed a quick grin at him, then turned back to the couple.

“So, Daphne, do you think you’ll be using Owens or Maynard on the wedding invitations?”

Michael’s face blanched while Daphne’s got very, very red.

“Miss Fisher, I don’t know what you - ”

Jack tossed the billfold back on the table.

Daphne looked ready to murder him.

“You’re a thief and a scoundrel!” she fumed.

“Yes, he is,” Phryne agreed, “and you’re absolutely welcome to turn us both in to the police. I believe there’s one or two constables wandering around right now, actually, shall we go find them?” Phryne stood as though to make good on her suggestion, but Michael put up a hand to stop her. 

“Wait,” he said quietly.

“Michael...” Daphne turned to him, a pleading look in her eyes.

“It’s over,” he said, sounding both resigned and relieved. Then he looked back at the two detectives. “First of all, Daphne didn’t know about any of this.”

“I think it’s very obvious that that’s not true.” Phryne crossed her arms and waited to hear the rest of the story.

Michael returned the billfold to his pocket and took a deep breath. “As you know, my real name is Michael Maynard. Owen is my middle name. I’m not rich, I really do work in publishing now and I really did come over last year to help my father with work. And… that’s why I’m using the alias. My father was the chief council working with Clarence Hatry on the United Steel Companies merger.”

Phryne raised an eyebrow, clearly wary of any associate of the man who had so recently caused the London Stock Exchange crash. 

“He didn’t do anything illegal!” Michael rushed to clarify. “He was duped, same as everyone. And he’s cooperating fully with the authorities to do what good he can now. But his name’s been all over the papers these last few months, and so many people were hurt in the crash, that Daphne - and I - thought it best to let her friends and family get to know me without the association.”

“Stop it, Michael,” Daphne interjected sternly. “Stop covering for me.” She turned to Phryne. “It was all my idea. I didn’t want my family to think he was marrying me for my money. I’ve made some… shall we say, foolish, decisions in the past, and even though I’ve most definitely learned from them, I was afraid my family would just assume I was making another one. So I convinced Michael to participate in this ridiculous ruse.” She turned back to her fiancé and took his hand.

“I’m so sorry, darling. I… I really did think it best at first, but I can see now how much this has hurt you. And I never meant to make you feel as though I was ashamed in any way. I’m not, I swear. I was, perhaps, ashamed of how naive I was in the past, but never of you. I love you, and I hope you can forgive me.”

Michael took Daphne’s other hand and used both to pull her closer to him.

“You always see the best in people, Daph. Never apologize for that. It’s one of the reasons I love you so very much.”

Still seated but swaying ever so subtly closer, the two young lovers stared at each other, smiling the smile of the besotted, until a pointed cough from Jack reminded them they were not, in fact, the only two people in the world.

Michael moved back, but continued holding one Daphne’s hands.

“So… you can turn me in now, I guess,” Michael said. 

“I think we can afford to leave the irons unclapped for now, Michael,” Phryne assured him. “Go back and enjoy the party. We’ll let you know if we have any further questions. Just, don’t try and leave early, alright?”

Michael and Daphne nodded, then stood to leave. 

“Oh, just one moment,” Jack said. “Mr Maynard, can I see your right hand?”

Confused, Michael presented his right hand to the table. It was completely clean, which didn’t surprise Jack, but also left him no closer to catching the thief.

“Thank you,” he said, and at his nod the young couple turned away from the table and returned to the dancing.

“Well, Miss Fisher, what do you think?” Jack asked, pulling out his notebook to look over everything they had so far.

“Unfortunately, I rather think they’re telling the truth. They could still be lying, of course, but I doubt it.”

“Plus no ash on his hand.”

“Exactly,” she said, sounding slightly dejected.

“Cheer up, Miss Fisher, we’re down to three suspects now.”

“Four,” she grumbled, pointing at herself and taking another bite of dessert.

“Three,” he said. “Don’t go losing that Fisher optimism now.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and Jack was surprised to realize she really did sound regretful. “It’s just… we’re running out of time. It’s nearly ten, and soon Carr will realize I’m gone and haul me off to the station, and though I’ve no doubt justice and a high priced barrister will prevail in the end, it’s not at all how I wanted to spend our first few days together.”

Jack regarded her quietly for a moment, before standing up decisively. “So let’s not,” he said, offering her his hand. “Come on, Cinderella, we’ve still got some time. Let's go do what we do best. We've barely even seen the crime scene.”

“And how do you suppose we get in? I'm sure the door is locked, probably guarded by that overeager young constable.”

“Since when does a locked door stop you? And if there's a guard, I'm sure he can be persuaded with a little light flirting.”

“You're actually suggesting I flirt with the constable?”

“Well that's not exactly what I was suggesting, but if you think you'd have better luck, I'm happy to step aside.”

She snorted at that, the smile returning to her face. She leaned back, the look in her eyes questioning but happy. She tugged sofly on his hand.

“Oh, Jack Robinson, what am I going to do with you?”

“I'm sure I don't know, Miss Fisher, but if I'm ever to find out I think we need to keep investigating.”

She nodded decisively at that. “Too right! Cinderella still has a few moves before the clock strikes.” She rose and began walking with him towards the door, but stopped when she spotted a familiar face walking in.

Phryne spun around quickly and Jack looked up to see what made her pause.

Standing in the doorway, directly between the detectives and their continued investigation, was Inspector Carr.

“Damn,” Jack muttered. As he turned back to Phryne, the band struck up another song and Jack decided to improvise. “Care to dance, Miss Fisher? I believe they’re playing our song.”

“This is a foxtrot, Jack, not a waltz,” she corrected him as she raised her arms in perfect form.

“All the better to hide your face, my dear,” he said leading her around the floor, careful to keep himself between Carr and Phryne’s visage.

“You’re very good at this,” she pointed out. “Dancing, I mean. I don’t think I ever got a chance to tell you in Melbourne.”

“Thank you. I’ve always enjoyed it. Plus it’s the only time I get to lead, so…” he replied, a smirk lingering on the corners of his mouth.

“Well if you feel that way, Jack, perhaps you’d better improve your moves.”

“Miss Fisher, I assure you, you’ve not yet begun to see _my_ moves.”

She tilted her head in acknowledgement and then moved it slightly further to look around Jack. Apparently Carr was still there because she popped back into place and let Jack continue to lead them around the room, carefully watching the crowd and attempting to keep a low profile. Spotting a familiar face by the band, Jack nodded for Phryne to look over.

“Looks like your would-be suitor is over his heartache,” Jack said, watching as Gideon Chester danced with Stella Burgess across the room; the two appeared to be deep in conversation.

Phryne frowned. “Well that’s disappointing, I thought Stella had better taste.”

“Perhaps she does; she doesn’t look very happy with him.”

“Oh he probably just opened his mouth and spoke,” Phryne commented. “That would do it for most women.”

Jack laughed. “Well luckily I’m only interested in the one.”

Phryne flashed him a quick grin before making a small moue of displeasure. “I would _love_ to know what they’re talking about though. Can you move us a little closer?”

Jack glanced over again at the couple dancing. “I would but they’re now positioned right next to Carr. I’m afraid if I try… ”

Phryne shook her head. “No no, it’s the right call. Better to keep our distance now and live to detect another day. Still…” She sighed in frustration. “I really must learn how to read lips.”

“You can’t already? I’m disappointed. I just assumed it was another Fisher talent.”

Phryne arched an eyebrow. “Believe me, darling, I’ve got far more interesting talents involving lips than _reading_.” 

Without meaning to, Jack’s gaze drifted down to said lips before snapping up to her eyes again, which, when he met them, were full of equal parts amusement and promise.

“Noted,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping up ever so slightly as he did.

They were both silent for a moment after that, enjoying the music and the closeness and the relative stillness after their mad dash around the house all night. After a time, though, she looked at him seriously.

“Jack, why did you come?” 

“I’m sorry?” Jack faltered in his steps, just a for second, thrown by the non sequitur question.

She rolled with his misstep, but was not deterred. “Earlier, you said ‘that’s not why I came.’ But you didn’t say why you _did_. I’d… I think I’d like to know.”

“I… ” Jack trailed off, uncertain how to best put into words the cavalcade of emotions that had sent him on this journey. He knew he had to try though. She’d asked and she deserved an answer. He opened his mouth to make an attempt, but was immediately silenced with a finger to his lips.

“Sorry, darling, but you’re going to have to hold that thought.” She jerked her head to the left and Jack followed her gaze, seeing Carr and Constable Weber in deep conversation with one of the guests. “I think this is our chance.”

Jack nodded and expertly maneuvered them to and out the door in a matter of seconds. 

Once they were safely back in the hall, they darted for the stairwell, both realizing that the crime scene must currently be unguarded if Carr and Weber were both in the ballroom. They only made it a few feet, though, before they were stopped by a small voice.

“Miss Fisher?”

They turned in unison to see a young blonde woman, a maid by her outfit, tentatively moving towards them. Jack vaguely recalled her as checking coats near the front door when he arrived. “Are you Miss Fisher?” she asked.

“I am,” Phryne replied. “Can I help you.”

“My name’s Olive. Billy… Billy sent me.”

“Is he alright?” Phryne asked, clearly worried.

“He’s fine,” Olive assured her. “But I was telling him about something odd that happened tonight and he said you would probably want to hear about it straight away.”

“Well done, Billy,” Phryne murmured. “Yes, absolutely, but would you mind accompanying us upstairs, dear, we’re… it will be more quiet there.”

The girl nodded and the three of them made their way back up to the first floor. It was, as suspected, deserted.

“So,” Phryne began. “What did you see?”

“It’s not so much what I saw, miss, as what I heard. I was in the servants’ stairwell right before the fire broke out and I heard two people arguing. A man and a woman.”

“What were they arguing about?” Jack asked.

“I didn’t catch all of it,” she said, nervously tugging at her apron, “I’m not a snoop. I just… they were being loud is all.”

“Of course,” Phryne soothed. “Go on.”

“Well the woman said something about dropping it, ‘he’ was just being greedy now. And then the man said something about having four ready to go and he wasn’t going to waste them. And she better do her part. And then I left,” Olive hastened to add. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“I’m sure you didn't,” Jack added in his most reassuring Detective Inspector voice. The girl nodded vigorously in response. “Did you hear or see anything else, Olive? Anything that might help us identify them?”

“No, I was below them on the stairs and I never saw their faces. Just… well he was wearing formal wear, obviously, and she had on a blue dress. But that’s all. I left straight away after that and I didn’t come back until I heard the constable putting out the fire. The, uh, handsome one,” she added with a light blush across her cheeks.

“Thank you, Olive,” Phryne said. “That is most helpful. Truly.”

The girl nodded and turned to leave, but Phryne stopped her with a hand to her arm. “Oh and if you were to, perhaps, drop a napkin around that handsome constable, I’m sure he’d be ever so happy to help you retrieve it. And then perhaps you could say hello?” Phryne suggested, her voice rising with the suggestion.

The light blush on Olive’s cheeks became bright red.

“Oh miss, I couldn’t…”

“Of course you could, my dear. But the choice is yours.” Then she winked and with a flustered courtesy the girl vanished back down the stairs. 

Phryne turned back to Jack then to find a look of fond exasperation on his face.

“Really?” he asked. “Our first case in England and you’re already setting up the maid with the constable? You’re getting predictable, Miss Fisher.”

“Oh please,” she said, waving off the insinuation and passing him on the way to the gallery door. “You played Agony Aunt with Hugh far more than I did with Dot. If anyone set them up it was you. _Police code_ ,” she said pointedly over her shoulder, before dropping to her knees to pick the lock.

Jack rolled his eyes and followed her, then stopped when he took in her position, suddenly torn between standing close enough to provide her cover, and standing far away enough to remain unaffected by her... working.

Phryne must have noticed his quandary, because she shot him a suggestive smirk as she finished picking the lock.

“Help me up, Jack?” she asked innocently.

Shaking his head, and determined not to let her win this round, Jack reached down and pulled her to her feet. Standing nose to nose, Jack purposely looked past her to the door, not quite trusting himself with her eyes just yet.

“So, enjoying your first night in London then, Jack?” she asked playfully.

“What, solving a crime and trying to keep up with you? It feels like I’m still in Melbourne,” he said as he looked down the hall to make sure no one was coming.

“No murder this time though,” Phryne pointed out helpfully. 

“No,” Jack agreed, glancing down at her appreciatively before looking at the opposite end of the hall and examining all the possible exit routes. “But that dress is definitely lethal.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Phryne’s grin. “You should see the lingerie,” she quipped. 

“Oh, I fully intended to,” Jack assured her, smirking slightly but not looking back just yet. He felt her hand come to grip his lapel, and the motion caused Jack to turn his head and finally look her in the eye. The expression on her face was a mixture of joy and challenge and love and trust - the same look she had flashed him on that airfield so many months before - and while he’d almost certainly seen her look lovelier in their acquaintance, this, _this_ was the face that had sent Jack halfway around the world. The face that would launch a thousand transcontinental ships in his opinion. 

“Like I said, Jack - fun,” she promised him. Then, without breaking eye contact, she reached behind her with her free hand, opened the now unlocked door, and pulled them through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On September 20, 1929, the London Stock Exchange crashed when top British investor Clarence Hatry and many of his associates were jailed for fraud and forgery. The London crash greatly weakened the optimism of American investment in markets overseas and was a significant contributing factor to the Wall Street Crash of 1929. Lest you worry there was no history lesson in this fic. ;-)


	8. Chapter 8

The room looked much the same as it had the first time Jack had been there. It was a long gallery for displaying art, though necessarily shortened to fit the dimensions of the house. There were sculptures, books, and a good number of paintings.

There was also an empty frame where an Alfred Sisley painting used to be.

Since Phryne was examining it at the moment, Jack pulled out his notebook to review all the relevant information.

“Alright, let’s go over everything we know happened tonight.” Jack sat on one of the benches and began reading off. “Constable Weber was watching the Sisley. Sometime shortly before nine, Olive the maid heard two people arguing in the servants' staircase. A man and a woman, in evening wear and a dress and definitely guests.”

“A _blue_ dress,” Phryne added, walking over from the empty frame. A small shake of her head confirmed she had found nothing of interest there. “Which doesn’t help as much as I’d like it to. Both Daphne and Stella are wearing blue dresses, as are, what, a third of the women here?”

“A man and a woman arguing over him being greedy and having ‘four ready to go.’ Four what though?” Jack asked, tapping his pen thoughtfully against the pad. “Potential buyers?”

“Possibly,” Phryne said, taking a seat next to him. “My black market inquiries got me more than just in trouble with Carr. My source told me at least two of the paintings have already been offered up on the black market for sale, and the seller is casting a rather wide net in their search for a buyer. I would assume they have easily a dozen interested parties already, maybe even double that.”

“I don’t suppose your source knows who the seller is?”

“Sorry, Jack, they’re not that well connected.”

“Pity. Would have rather helped tie the case up nicely.”

“But then we’d have missed out on all this quality time, Jack.” The wide-eyed smile she flashed him was a little teasing and a lot fond and he couldn’t help the knowing smile he returned to her, nor the tiny shake of his head at her interpretation of the evening’s activities. 

“Heaven forfend, Miss Fisher. So, Olive hears the argument. Shortly after, someone starts a fire in the stairwell which attracts the attention of Constable Weber, who leaves his post to attend to it.”

“Weber swears he was gone no more than three minutes. And even if he’s off a bit, I doubt it was more than five given my own timeline of events. Which, incidentally, lines up with the timeline of the third robbery as well.”

“Constable Weber returns three to five minutes later and the painting is gone.”

“So the thief gets the painting out of the frame and hides it… somewhere in the space of five minutes.”

“And someone who shook hands with me likely started the fire, given the ash.”

“But it almost certainly wasn’t Michael and it definitely wasn’t Daphne, despite their other questionable decisions of late.”

“And all the stolen paintings were from the same lot at Sotheby's.”

“Yes. It’s an awfully...complicated plan, wouldn’t you agree?” Jack asked. “It begs the question of ‘why’? It would have been much easier to steal them as a group, wouldn’t it?”

“Sotheby's security is impressive, Jack. Their warehouse is essentially a fortress. Private homes are much less secure.”

“But there’s always a weak link. Transport or... something. It seems needlessly complicated.”

“Well given some of our past cases, Jack, I think ‘needlessly complicated’ might just be our thing.”

He barked out a laugh, then closed his book. “So… where does that leave us?”

“With more clues and less answers than ever, I’m afraid,” Phryne sighed, putting her head on his shoulder. “But at least the setting is lovely.”

“It really is,” Jack agreed. “Your friend Lord Hawkins has good taste.” 

“As do I,” Phryne said, pulling her head back up and looking him over. “Have I mentioned, Jack, how good you look in a tux? I think you should wear one more often.”

“What, to solve cases?” he asked.

“Solve cases, go on picnics, garden…” 

He chuckled and she put her head back down. 

“Is that what we’ll be doing,” he asked quietly. “Back in Melbourne, I mean. Solving cases, going on picnics, gardening?”

“Certainly the first, possibly the second, definitely not the third,” she answered. “Why, what did you have in mind?”

“Honestly? I’m just trying to enjoy the moment. If I’d thought about all that before boarding the ship in Melbourne, I might have never left.”

She nodded slowly against his shoulder, then suddenly sat bolt upright.

“Never left!”

“What?”

“Jack, what if the paintings never left! The guests were all searched thoroughly last time and no one’s been seen to leave with one tonight - what if the reason nothing’s been found is because the thief hid the paintings somewhere in the house and plans to come back later!”

“Not just somewhere in the house,” Jack added. “At such public events, the thief wouldn’t want to risk being caught in the halls by a roving guest.” A thought occurred to him and he stood up to look around the room. “Phryne… what did the other rooms look like?”

“Oh, mostly similar to this. Some a bit smaller, but always a display area. You don’t buy an Impressionist Master to hid it away.”

“So where in these rooms would you be able to hide a painting without attracting suspicion?”

Phryne’s eyes lit up as she realized what he was suggesting. She scanned the room as he did, and almost simultaneously their eyes landed on a painting hanging off to the side of a young girl.

“Miss Fisher, is that…”

“A Mary Cassatt? I do believe it is.” 

Watching Phryne as she hopped up onto a nearby bench to look closer, Jack shook his head and remembered his previous musings. “Of course it’s Troy,” he muttered with amusement. 

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing. Do you need any help?”

“Well, I don’t suppose you could steady me, Inspector?” she cheeked. 

Jack raised an eyebrow, but came over to do just that. Phryne looked at the painting, then the frame. At the top, she noticed something odd and leaned up to examine it closer. 

“Jack, I think there’s something here. Hidden in the groove. It’s very fine though, I can’t get to it with my gloves on. Here would you...” she went to remove her glove, then stopped. She turned to him instead.

“Jack,” she asked instead, far too seriously for a woman in evening wear standing on a bench. “Do you trust me?”

He didn’t hesitate a moment.

“Of course. That’s why I came.”

It was an oversimplification of matters, of course, but it was still true. Her responding smile told him she understood what he meant - _I trust us_ \- and the expression of joy that bloomed on her face was so reminiscent of the sun rising over a hill that Jack had to actually chide himself for his romantic imaginings. He could only blame the ambiance and the art.

“Then, my dear Inspector, follow me.”

She jumped down from the bench into his arms, took his hand, and led him out the door for the second time that night. And, for the second time that night, all Jack could do was go after her.

\---------------------

Phryne and Jack once again made their way hand in hand down the stairs to the ground floor, but this time they didn’t try to hide. As they walked up to the library door, Phryne shot Jack a look, as though to offer him a final out on the plan, but he shook his head. He was in this with her no matter what.

Without knocking, she walked inside.

Carr was there, with Constables Weber and Rodgers. Jack had to give the Inspector credit, though, he only seemed surprised to see her for a moment.

“Miss Fisher,” he said, not getting up from his chair. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, I left you handcuffed to a desk upstairs.”

“Something I’m graciously prepared to forgive you for _if_ you and your constables round up the other five suspects as well as the following people and bring them upstairs to the gallery at once.”

She bent over the desk to quickly jot down a list of names and handed it to Weber. “Oh and Constable - I believe you should collect the last name on that list yourself.” Weber took the list from her, nodding but with the most confused expression on his face. 

“And why would we do any of that?” Carr asked, shooting Weber an annoyed glance.

“Because my partner and I have spent the last hour solving the case for you, and honestly it's the least you can do.”

“Your partner?” Carr asked.

“Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson,” Phryne said and Carr did look surprised at that. Leaning against the door, Jack nodded at the introduction, ridiculously pleased to drop the toff routine once and for all. It had been fun for a moment, but he was who he was and he rather liked it. “Of the Victoria Constabulary,” she added.

“Well… you’re still a long way from home.” Carr noted, sitting back slightly in his chair. Jack wondered absently if that’s the way he looked sitting in his office, and then worried for a moment Phryne might hop up on the desk.

Instead, she came over and stood by Jack’s side.

“He is. And isn’t it just your lucky day, Inspector Carr, because we’re about to deliver not one, but two thieves to you, free of charge.”

Jack studied Carr closely. He still wasn’t sure what kind of a cop he was, but he was clearly not a stupid man. It just remained to be seen whether or not he was a stubborn one.

Carr narrowed his eyes, looked briefly at his notes, then nodded.

“Alright, we’ll play things your way for a bit, Miss Fisher. But I warn you, you’re on a very short leash.”

“Noted,” Phryne replied, with a tense smile. Jack could see she was trying to play nice, probably for the sake of not getting arrested again and thoroughly spoiling their first night together.

Jack, however, had just come 10,000 miles and felt no need to play nice.

“Inspector,” he said pushing off the door, “a word of advice from one lawman to another - trying to put Miss Fisher on a leash of any kind is a good way to get bit.”

Phryne’s smile turned from tense to teasing in a moment and she took his arm to leave the room. “Come now, Jack, you know I only bite when asked.” Then, without looking back at Carr, she informed the English officer, “We’ll meet you all upstairs.” 

And then they were gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Having gone the long way around to let Billy know what what happening, Phryne and Jack had only just reentered the gallery when they were joined by Constable Rodgers, Jonathan Langdon and Stella Burgess. Langdon had his notebook out and began taking notes almost immediately, while Stella took up residence towards the back of the room by a marble sculpture that looked remarkably like her. 

Next to arrive were Michael Maynard, Daphne Fleming, Gideon Chester, and Inspector Carr. The young couple looked nervous, and gripped each other’s hands as they sat together on a bench by the empty frame, while Gideon made a point of cheerfully greeting Phryne before finding a seat of his own. Arriving last were Lord Hawkins and Agatha Benson, who stood together in the center of the room making small talk, the young maid, Olive, who looked somewhat jittery and made a beeline for the back of the room as soon as she entered, and Constable Weber.

Weber positioned himself at the door, while Rodgers and Carr stood at the front. Jack leaned against the wall near Carr and motioned for Phryne to start. “Alright Mademoiselle Poirot, everyone’s assembled, time to begin your denouement,” he said quietly, not quite hiding the fondness he felt for her in the moment.

She winked at him as she took center stage.

“You all know about the _Lost Impressionists_ thefts that have scandalized London over the last few weeks,” Phryne announced without preamble. “Including tonight, four paintings in five weeks have disappeared as if by magic from public events like tonight’s party. What you may or may not know, however, is that the only six people in attendance at all of those events are currently in this room.”

She paused briefly as the crowd of people looked around at one another.

“From the very beginning, this case has made no sense. As my partner pointed out, very astutely I might add, it was overly complicated. Why steal the paintings one by one when they had all been together mere weeks ago? And why these particular paintings, when they weren’t the most valuable on the list?” She looked briefly at the frame and then back to the crowd. 

“And finally, how? The paintings just seemed to vanish, as if by magic, here one moment, gone the next. Nothing made sense. Until, that is, you realize what _didn’t_ happen.”

Phryne once again surveyed the room. Jack could see she had everyone’s rapt attention and he remembered how lucky he was to be the one, even for a moment, who had hers.

“What didn’t happen Number 1: What didn’t happen is that Jonathan Langdon went from social scene commentator to ace crime reporter.” Langdon opened his mouth to protest, but a look from Phryne shut him down. 

“Jonathan, someone tonight commented how you seem to be even better informed than the police. Is that down to your newfound investigative skills or is someone, perhaps, feeding you information?”

“Like what?” he asked defensively.

“Well, if I had to take a guess, I’d say what was taken and where to be next and how daring the whole thing was?”

Langdon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, almost sweating under the simultaneous glares of Phryne and Carr. Eventually he spoke again.

“I’m not at liberty to give up my sources,” he said, somewhat weakly.

“You’re not able to, you mean,” Phryne clarified. “Because you don’t know. Correct?”

With a sigh, Langdon gave up and shook his head. “Someone’s been leaving me notes at the office.” 

“Someone who needed all the details of the thefts reported far and wide in the press, a point I’ll get to soon.”

Jack noticed a few of the guests shifting in their seats and began surreptitiously moving towards the door. If the thieves decided to flee, he wanted Weber to have back up.

“Next, what didn’t happen Number 2: What didn’t happen is that the paintings weren’t taken directly from Sotheby’s as was originally intended. Because Jack is right, there’s always a weak link, and an operation this sophisticated would know what it was. But there’s no accounting for weather, is there?”

Phryne casually made her way over to the Mary Cassatt painting, looking up at it before directing her focus back to two very specific pairs of eyes in the room. 

“Finally, what didn’t happen Number 3: The paintings weren’t actually stolen.”

A murmur went up in the crowd, and Jack braced himself. Phryne went in for the kill.

“Isn’t that right, Gideon and Agatha?”

At the exact same moment, they both bolted, running towards the door and the two policeman blocking it. Agatha tried to duck around Weber, but he was ready and caught her by the waist before she could get anywhere. 

Gideon decided to improve his chances by grabbing a small statue on the way and swinging it in the direction of Jack’s head. But Jack’s coordination was better, and he used the man’s momentum to knock him off balance, tackling him to the ground and pinning him with a knee. Gideon kept fighting, though, trying to get the upper hand, which is when Jack suddenly remembered the handcuffs in his pocket and used them to finally subdue the man. As he secured the cuffs around Gideon’s wrists, Jack was briefly disappointed to note that this would be their ultimate fate tonight, instead of what he had hoped.

Pity.

Hauling the third son of the Earl of Coventry to his feet, Jack joined Constable Weber and Agatha Benson, who was currently being handcuffed by Inspector Carr, at the front of the room.

Neither one of the suspects said a word though, so Phryne spoke instead. 

“It really was a marvelous plan. If you weren’t both thieves and liars, I’d be very impressed right now. And honestly, if you’re not going to tell all these good people what you did, I feel compelled to do it myself.”

Phryne took their silence as assent.

“As Lord Hawkins reminded me earlier tonight, Gideon and Agatha went to art school together in Paris. Agatha took that education and began a career at Sotheby’s. I suspect Gideon just had a good time. But he was, and remains to this day, an accomplished artist. Perhaps not good enough to sell his own work, but good enough to convincingly replicate someone else’s.” 

Gideon shifted but did not say anything in response. Phryne shook her head.

“As I said, a marvelous plan. But there were complications, weren’t there? Too bad about that storm.”

The pair remained silent. Lord Hawkins spoke up instead. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Weather, Lord Hawkins,” Phryne clarified. “Agatha was supposed to assist with the _Lost Impressionists_ auction, but got held up by weather in France. She must have been integral to the plot to steal them directly from Sotheby’s or you would have gone ahead without her, right Gideon?”

If looks could kill, Gideon Chester would have murdered every person in that room.

“But you said the paintings weren’t stolen,” Lord Hawkins reminded everyone.

“They weren't. Or rather they weren’t removed from the rooms they were in. They didn’t need to be. Actually stealing them was never essential to the plan, it was just a rather lucrative bonus. Agatha and Gideon just needed the world to _believe_ they’d been stolen.”

Phryne again gestured to the empty frame.

“The key, in the end, was the artists. You see, Camille Pissarro and Alfred Sisley worked in the same areas, they used the same paints, the same canvases. And that’s the key in a good forgery, paint and canvas. An artist forging a Pissarro would have a pretty easy time forging a Sisley as well. They also both painted landscapes, Gideon’s specialty. Fortuitous, really - you must have been delighted when you realized that, Agatha, which is when you brought your old school chum in on the plan.”

The woman in question just stared at the floor, refusing to engage.

“You two really are making me do all the work here,” Phryne sighed. “Fine. I’ll just spell it out. The plan was simple. Gideon, having been provided access to the _Lost Impressionists_ paintings for months in advance of the auction by Agatha - I assume through that clever art student program, but do correct me if I’m wrong, dear - painted a number of forgeries of all the Pissarros and Sisleys. Agatha and Gideon then intended to very publicly steal the whole lot before the auction. That was vital of course; the public needed to know the paintings had been stolen.”

“To prime buyers on the black market,” Carr interjected, finally catching on.

“Exactly,” Phryne confirmed. “After that it’s simple; put out the word that you have the painting and sell each forgery like it’s the original. Since they’re obviously stolen property it’s not like the new owner’s going to display them publicly. And even if the buyers _did_ find out, what would they do, go to the police? Of course not. That would be admitting to a crime themselves. It really was ingenuous. Except, of course, for the weather.” 

Carr nodded. “The auction went off as planned, and the pieces were sold and distributed.”

“Mmmm. But Agatha is clever and determined. So she improvised.” Phryne gestured towards the Mary Cassatt painting. “Part of the loaned out American Impressionist collection, I assume?” 

Agatha nodded minutely. There was no point in denying that fact.

“The same collection you offered pieces from to all the _Lost Impressionists_ winning bidders." Phryne walked over to the piece and touched the side gently. “But a somewhat large frame for this particular portrait, wouldn’t you say? Jack, would you be a dear?”

Jack handed Gideon off to Rodgers and helped Phryne take the painting off the wall. 

“You see here?” she asked, gesturing to the top of the frame. “There’s a catch and a slide. Hidden in the grain of the wood, but there. Opens up to reveal a hidden compartment just large enough for a second painting. A bit like those puzzle boxes you’re so fond of, Agatha. Which is probably why you had these to hand.”

Jack set the portrait against the wall as Phryne once again addressed the crowd.

“Once these were in place, all Gideon had to do was get the targeted paintings out of their frames and into the reverse Trojan Horses,” Phryne clarified with a little wink to her partner and Jack bit back a smile at her use of the phrase. 

“Stolen at public functions from wealthy homes, news was sure to spread soon enough anyway, but just in case, you sent notes to Mr Langdon to ensure this was front page news. Buyers in place for the forgeries, you could just leave the originals where they were. And the best part, of course, was that in a week or so, Agatha would come in, totally above board, and walk out with the stolen paintings right under everyone’s nose.”

There was a silence that had descended in the room as Phryne had spun her tale. But now that she was seemingly done, everyone turned their attention to the two suspects being held up front, and the weight of their collective gaze finally compelled Gideon to speak.

“A fascinating story, Miss Fisher,” he practically spat out, “but you’ve no proof. It’s all conjecture. And even if you do find the Sisley hidden in that frame, it won’t prove I put it there.”

“He’s right,” Agatha added quietly. “As much as I loathe to agree with Mr Chester on anything, this is all speculation.”

“True,” Phryne said. “Except for four details. One - your synchronized mad dash for the door just a few minutes ago, though I suppose you could blame that on a desperate and simultaneous need for more canapés.” Constable Weber snorted a laugh before a chastising look from Carr silenced him. Phryne tossed him a smile and wink all the same before continuing.

“Two, earlier tonight the pair of you were overheard arguing in the servants' stairwell about the thefts.” 

Jack spared a glance to Olive, who nodded quickly at him. She could, and would, identify them if needed.

“Three, Agatha, unused to arson I assume, still has some ash on her hands from setting the distraction fire.” Carr nodded to Weber, who requested that Agatha hold up her hand. Closing her eyes, she complied, and Jack was close enough that he could see the smudges that still lingered.

“And finally, four, the most damning detail of all - when I examined the Cassatt frame earlier tonight, I realized it was too delicate to open with my gloves on. So while I’m sure you were careful to wear gloves while removing the Sisley from its frame, I’m equally sure you had to take them off to put it in the decoy. And thus your fingerprints will literally be all over it.”

Nearly shaking with rage, Gideon lunged at Phryne, but he was handcuffed and she was faster. A quick jab from her elbow to his solar plexus and he collapsed onto the floor. 

Which is when Agatha stopped being silent.

“You idiot!” she screamed at him, furious and indignant and full of rage. “You greedy, stupid fool! We could have been done. I told you tonight was a mistake. But you wouldn't listen! Another stupid, bloody, worthless man who can’t entertain the idea that I know what I’m doing. And now you’ve ruined us both!”

She sank to the floor in angry tears, the constables unsure how or if to restrain her. The rest of the crowd was talking amongst themselves, their volume increasing as they processed the information and the events of the night became real. Gideon was still moaning on the floor and writhing in pain from the hit. It was utter chaos.

Standing across the room from each other, Jack caught Phryne’s eye and smiled. She shrugged her shoulders, smiled back, and walked over to him, calm and cool amongst all the confusion. 

When she reached him, she lifted her arms to straighten his bowtie.

“Welcome to London, Jack,” she said, her hands brushing down his lapels. 

He caught her hands in his own and held them loosely against his chest, a smile hidden in the corners of his mouth even as he tried to appear stern; almost certainly a lost cause.

“Hell of a party, Miss Fisher. You go to all this trouble on my account?”

Phryne grinned and used their joined hands to pull him closer.

“Oh, Jack, the trouble hasn’t even started.”

10,000 miles from his job, his life, and whatever had been holding them apart, Jack grinned back and embraced the lost cause.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are at the end of another case fic. Thank you to everyone who has stayed with this story all the way through - hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> ...and now the conclusion.

The chaos that the room had become was further amplified a moment later by the arrival of seven uniformed officers, newly on duty and there to assist Carr.

The Inspector in question began giving orders, arranging for the framed Cassatt painting - and the hidden Sisley - to be taken to the Met and processed for fingerprints, and for the suspects to be arrested properly. 

As they were being led out, Lord Hawkins stopped them.

“Agatha, why?” he asked, the hurt in his voice evident.

She looked back at him sadly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to involve you or Julia in this at all. But I knew the insurance would pay for the loss, and I was just so… ” She trailed off and closed her eyes.

“Tired of the stupid, bloody, worthless men?” Phryne asked, the sympathy in her voice also apparent.

Agatha open her eyes and looked at Phryne, seeing in her someone who understood even if she didn’t approve. Agatha nodded and then walked out, escorted by three uniformed officers and a handcuffed Gideon, still complaining about his ribs.

“I don’t understand,” Lord Hawkins said. “What did she mean?”

“All those clever initiatives you mentioned earlier? The ones she assisted on? Those were her ideas, Charlie. She gave them her brilliant mind and they took all the credit and let her play assistant. So when this opportunity arose…”

“She realized she could make a lot of money and get back at the men who had wronged her all at the same time,” Jack finished.

“Poor Agatha,” Phryne said “Such a mind and such a waste.”

Jack caught the expression on her face and shook his head.

“Something tells me that she’s about to have a visit from that high priced barrister,” he said, and Phryne shrugged her shoulders innocently.

Maddening, kind, extraordinary woman.

“And Gideon?” Lord Hawkins asked. “What was his motive?”

“Exactly what Agatha said - greed. I imagine he’s blown through whatever inheritance he got, and as the third son, Gideon’s meager income is unlikely to continue supporting his preferred lifestyle for long. He’s actually been on the lookout for a Dollar Princess for some time; I suspect none of them found him worth the title and he decided this was an easier way to secure his fortune for the foreseeable future.”

“A damn shame,” Lord Hawkins lamented. Then he excused himself and left to attend to his other guests downstairs.

He had only been gone a moment when Stella Burgess sidled up.

“Very impressive, Phryne.” The woman’s compliment seemed earnest to Jack, and at odds with her seemingly adversarial nature earlier.

“Thank you,” Phryne replied, cautiously. She had clearly noted the change as well. When Stella didn’t respond or make a move to leave, Phryne continued. “I’m sorry, did you need something?”

“Yes, well, now that I know you’re serious about this detective business,” Stella paused to look around and make sure they wouldn’t be overheard, “I’d like to hire you. On a very… delicate matter.” A pointed look at Jack. “Of a personal nature.”

Phryne met the other woman’s eyes, her expression utterly sincere.

“You can trust Jack, Stella. I promise.”

The blonde considered him for a moment before deciding to do just that. 

“Alright.” She handed Phryne her card. “Call on me at your earliest convenience if you would.” She looked at Jack again. “Both of you.”

Stella nodded again and turned to go. Leaving the room, she passed Daphne and Michael, who were still standing together in the corner. 

Phryne eyed them for a moment. “Would you excuse me for a minute, Jack? I’d like to say goodbye to Daphne.”

“Of course.”

Jack watched her go, walking through a group of constables to reach the young couple. Then he leaned back against the wall to watch the policemen at work and relish all the paperwork he _didn’t_ need to fill out after this. When the thought passed in fancy, lack of paperwork was, in fact, the most appealing aspect of becoming a private detective, though the idea never stuck. Chuckling at the notion, he almost didn’t notice Carr’s approach until the man was next to him.

“Inspector,” Jack greeted him.

“Inspector,” Carr replied, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. “So… is this sort of thing common in the Antipodes?”

“Crime? Or Miss Fisher solving the case unconventionally and with an audience? Because the answer to both is yes.”

“I meant working with a civilian on a case,” Carr clarified. “Even one as brilliant as Miss Fisher.”

Jack considered the question. “It didn’t used to be. Can’t say I mind the change, though.”

“No, I suppose you don’t… And I can’t say I mind the outcome.”

Jack looked at the other man carefully. There was an ease to his manner that did not speak of someone who had recently had his beliefs wholly overturned. A thought occurred, one Jack wished he’d had earlier.

“You never actually suspected Miss Fisher, did you?”

Carr shrugged. “Some of the evidence pointed that way, but I admit it was a long shot.”

“Then why - ”

“Because I didn’t know her and she was involving herself in my case. So when she showed up again tonight and I arrested her, I figured I’d either caught the actual thief or I’d taken Miss Fisher - however briefly - out of play, in which case the real culprit might be a little less careful, and more likely to make a mistake.”

“I don’t agree with the tactic,” Jack said coolly.

“I wouldn’t expect you to. But if you welcomed her into your first case together no questions asked, I’ll eat my hat. You strike me as a careful man, Inspector - tell me it didn’t take a while for you to let her in.”

Jack tilted his head, conceding the point. Carr had no idea how right he was.

“Anyway, I just came over to thank you. For the assist.”

“You should thank Miss Fisher,” Jack noted. “As has been pointed out, I only arrived tonight.”

“I intend to. But I saw you first. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Carr nodded at Jack, then walked away to join his constables, one of whom appeared to be looking around for something.

Jack pushed off the wall and went to join Phryne, hoping the intrusion into her conversation would not be unwelcome. Whatever she was saying to the young pair, they both seemed happier than they had all night, for which Jack was pleased.

After all, what's in a name?

As he pulled up alongside Phryne, she smiled at him and touched his elbow, indicating he was very welcome indeed. Daphne and Michael were clearly about to leave, but Phryne grabbed Daphne’s hand before they could.

“Daphne, I wondered if I might join you and Michael for tea with your parents soon? I’ve known them a long time, and I think it might be good for them to be reminded of my dubious origins.”

The young woman nodded eagerly and then the two were off, leaving Phryne and Jack alone at last.

“Miss Fisher, you’re a romantic,” Jack teased, shaking his head in mock objection.

“I’m a lot of things, Jack. For example, right now I’m very eager to go back to your hotel room.”

“ _My_ hotel room? Phryne, I warn you, it’s not especially - ”

“Are any members of my family staying there?”

“...no.”

“Are any members of _your_ family staying there?”

“No.”

“Does it have a door that locks?”

“Yes.”

“Then it sounds perfect.”

“Almost,” Jack amended and Phryne raised her eyebrows in silent question. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Shame about the darbys.”

When he pulled back she was looking up at him so innocently he knew immediately he was in trouble.

“Funny you should mention that,” she said, her voice going up and taking Jack’s blood pressure with it. “Check your pocket, Jack.”

Jack frowned, but did as she asked, reaching into his jacket pocket, expecting it to be empty and instead finding the familiar cold steel of handcuffs. 

Removing his hand quickly, as though by distancing himself from the evidence he could absolve himself of whatever trick she’d played, he hissed at her, “Miss Fisher, what have you done?”

She shrugged insouciantly. “A simple case of teleportation, Jack. Luckily, Stella’s not the only one who knows how to conjure.” Then she leaned up to whisper in his ear, the action and her warm breath on his neck making it very difficult to actually follow her words. “Abracadabra, darling.” 

“So I’m to believe it’s magic and not ‘pickpocketing one of those poor constables’, am I?” he asked when she’d pulled back enough for him to again at least pretend to be cross. 

“Oh, I think the real magic begins when we find somewhere appropriate to use them.”

Jack shook his head, a smirk on his lips that belied his censure. “Well, since I can see you’re entirely irredeemable and won’t be returning that stolen property anytime soon, I think it’s time we take our leave,” Jack suggested. “Do you want to see if Inspector Carr needs you for anything before we go?”

“No, I think the good Inspector has everything under control, and the case is all wrapped up. Guilty parties rounded up and all that.”

“You’re not worried Gideon might go free? He could claim a frame job,” Jack said, proud of his straight face and prouder still of Phryne’s slight jaw drop when she got it.

“Is… is this who you secretly are, Jack Robinson? Bad puns and unfair admonishments? You know, I’m not entirely certain this trip was such a good idea,” she pouted.

“Well it’s too late now, there’s no ships back to Australia for weeks. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. He would never want her to feel that way. He wanted her to choose him, every day, as he chose her. He watched her face carefully for her reaction, but to his surprise she didn’t seem upset by his faux pas. She just seemed amused and… happy.

“Funny,” she said with a small, soft smile. “I’m not afraid at all.”

She was leaning into him slightly, her nearness and surety in them created an intoxicating mix that filled his senses. Jack had just determined it was time to kiss her madly, damn the time and place, when Carr appeared before them doing a remarkably good impression of Prudence Stanley.

“Excuse me, Miss Fisher, a word?”

Jack pressed his lips together in frustration and rolled his eyes so far back into his head he worried for a moment they might get stuck there. Phryne sighed, then smiled at him sympathetically before turning to address the other officer.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to thank you. For your assistance in this case. And,” he produced a card from his pocket, “to see if you would consider coming down to Scotland Yard to look at another case that’s been vexing me.”

Phryne took the card, and smiled graciously at Carr.

“You’re very welcome, Inspector Carr, and I’m sure my partner and I would be happy to provide you any assistance we can. But I’m afraid we have urgent plans right now and won’t be available for the next three days - ”

Jack coughed and patted his jacket pocket.

“Four days,” Phryne amended. “At least.”

“We’ll be sure to call on you though,” Jack assured him. “And good luck with the paperwork, mate.”

And with that, Phryne and Jack finally, _finally_ , took their leave of the party. 

Arm in arm, and almost vibrating with anticipation and joy, the two of them made their way downstairs, out the door and into a taxi in less than two minutes.

And if, on the way to Jack’s hotel, they got a little more carried away in the backseat than they intended, well… London cab drivers were known for their discretion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disclaimer: I actually know nothing about Sotheby's except that it was a high end auction house in London in 1929. So I guess... sorry for making them a bunch of sexist jerks if they weren’t, and not sorry if they were?


End file.
